


Your Idiot Vs. Our Idiot

by NoMournerNoFunerals93



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Attempt at Humor, Eventual Relationships, Everyone is so bad at feelings, Hanamaki Takahiro is a Little Shit, Hitman AU, Inappropriate Humor, Innuendo, Iwaizumi Hajime Is So Done, Matsuhana Brainrot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slowburn IwaOi, Spicy language, There are also a bunch of other pairings but some stuff I don't want to spoil, Violence, What Have I Done, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMournerNoFunerals93/pseuds/NoMournerNoFunerals93
Summary: “I’m Takahiro,” he paused, extending a hand towards Issei. “But you can call me Daddy.”“Nice to meet you Daddy, I’m Dom.” Issei grinned, his alias’ name rolling off his tongue before he could consider otherwise.“Dom as in dominoes? I do love a good game,” Takahiro retorted.“Nah, Dom as in I’ll beat dat ass into submission.” Issei winked.“Holy shit,” the man with the pompous hair murmured, his eyes wide. “There’s two of you.”
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 52
Kudos: 131





	1. Bad Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Sighhhh it’s been awhile since I’ve written anything and this story has kind of gotten out of hand and consumed my whole life… Matsuhana brainrot has awakened me from my writing coma and will probably be the death of me.
> 
> That being said, none of this would have happened if not for the tireless efforts of Aimee, Jordan, or Nicki. Thanks for letting me scream about this and talk it into the ground. Your support has been everything to me and I’ll never be able to express what it means. 
> 
> Without further ado, the Matsuhana spy AU nobody asked for.

Bad Ideas - Tessa Violet

_Bad ideas, ay_

_I know where they lead_

_But I got too many to sleep_

_And I can't get enough, no_

_I wanna kiss you standing up_

_And if tomorrow makes me low_

_Well it'd be worth it just to know_

_'Cause I can't get enough, no_

_I wanna kiss you standing up_

_Smitten's a bad look on me_

—x—

“Cupcake to Zilla: I’ve got sight on a floater,” Issei mumbled, lining his scope up with his intended target. 

“Roger that. Have you cleared your surroundings?”

“Hmm,” he considered. Well, that was certainly a loaded question. Had Issei checked the area before climbing up to his perch in the tree? Of course. Still, he’d spent long enough on the branch lying in wait to know that the setting around him had likely altered. Killing time was second nature at this point, after all. “Most definitely,” Issei finally decided.

“What the fuck is with the hesitation? How many times do I have to tell you not to lie when our cover is at risk, _Cupcake._ ” Issei choked back his laugh as the code name was ground out through undoubtedly clenched teeth on the other line.

“Sorry, not sorry. I’m taking the shot.” Issei didn’t even bother trying to contradict his partner. He trusted himself well enough to know he could handle the situation, come what may. Issei peaked through his scope once more, double checking that his aim was still on the target. 

“Do _not_ take the shot. I repeat, do _not_ take the shot!” Hajime bellowed but Issei was well versed in ignoring direct orders and, frankly, doing whatever the hell he wanted. Really, Iwaizumi should have known better by now. 

Issei’s finger idled on the trigger for a moment before he pulled it. In hindsight, once would have been more than enough, but he had an image to protect and so he found himself pressing it again. And once more for good measure. The body fell to the ground with a soft thud, the sound drowned out by Hajime’s string of curses in his ear.

“I swear to god, I’m going to kill you if the opposition doesn’t find you first,” his comrade spat, though it was lacking its usual heat.

“No harm, no foul, Zilla. Enemy eliminated. Now, we just have to find the last two punks and we’ll lock that flawless victory in place.” A corner of Issei’s mouth ticked up as he leaned his back against the rough bark of the tree once more, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

“Can you guys shut up for once in your life?” Another voice joined in, the sound crackling slightly as Issei’s radio picked up the frequency. “We can’t afford another blow to our reputation. Nobody takes us seriously as it is.”

“Aww, Spread-Eagle feels left out. It’s okay, bud. I’m sure you’ll find someone to shoot out there,” Issei replied, cooing gently into the receiver.

“ _Eagle,_ ” Daichi corrected tersely. Issei had already managed to piss off Daichi and Hajime for the day and they hadn’t even gone out for drinks yet. “Next time Zilla wants to beat you senseless, I’m not going to stop him.”

“Shhh, trying to concentrate over here,” Issei scolded, knowing whatever reaction it caused would be well worth the punch to the gut he would later receive. 

“Phoenix is awfully quiet,” Daichi mused, ignoring Issei’s commentary.

“You know how he gets when he’s in the zone,” Hajime grumbled. As if they needed the reminder. 

“And he _so_ often gets let out of the cage,” Issei pouted, scoping his surroundings when he heard a twig snap on the ground around him. 

“Should we try to track him down?” But Issei barely heard the words leave Daichi’s mouth before a shot exploded on the trunk next to his head.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Issei jumped up, feet landing gracefully on the branch below him before gliding over to the next tree.

“What’s happening?” Hajime's voice echoed in his ear, but he didn’t have the time to respond as more shots echoed behind him. The foliage was digging into his shins and Issei didn’t have to look to know he had at least a few snags in his sweats.

“Cupcake, what the fuck is going on?” Hajime demanded a little louder this time. “What’s your location?”

“A little busy at the moment.” Issei was just hopping over to the next tree when a shot nearly grazed him. The ricochet caused him to lose his footing and send him tumbling down in a clash of leaves and branches. Issei tucked his knees and arms to his chest before hitting the ground, rolling so as not to slow his momentum. He was definitely going to be feeling that in the morning. Perhaps karma was giving him a little payback for shooting his first target three times.

“Location!” 

“I don’t know, I’m surrounded by trees,” Issei finally managed to respond, chuckling quietly to himself. The laugh was cut short when he was halted to a stop by a gun aimed dead center of his chest. Issei gulped, a lump forming in his throat. He was well and truly fucked this time. Maybe they would erect a statue in his honor when this was all over.

A round of shots fired in quick bursts of sound ringing through his ears and Issei winced, squeezing his eyes shut. The impact of bullets hitting flesh never came, surprising him enough to crack an eye open when everything was silent once more only to find the gun aimed over Issei’s shoulder. He surveyed the figure in front of him and probably would have come up empty if not for the crop of wild red hair sticking out every which way above his gas mask when he pulled his beanie off.

Issei looked behind him, studying the two figures on the ground. Red splatters stained their vests, the liquid pattering down in heavy globs and seeping into the soil around them. He ignored their groans and turned back to find Satori as he pulled the mask from his head, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

“Found Phoenix.” Issei smirked back, the collective sighs of relief resounding in his earpiece. He heard, more than saw, the bodies behind him standing and brushing off their gear. He could only imagine the defeat etched into their features as they packed up and walked back the entrance.

“The miracle boys have done it again,” Satori said, his smile twisting a hair passed maniacal. “Flawless victory: paintball style.”

—x—

“It’s about time we won one,” Hajime muttered, pulling the zipper closed on his bag. Though he didn’t sound it, Issei could tell how pleased he was by the small sincere smile and unclenched fists. 

“Yeah, no thanks to Daichi,” Issei commented as he packed up his spare paintball pellets into his black bag. He really needed to involve a larger color spectrum into his style, but honestly it just kind of came with the job. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Daichi scoffed, affronted. 

“Well seeing as there were six of them and only four of us and you didn’t manage to tag a single player...” Issei trailed off, quirking his lips and raising a brow. 

“Don’t act so smug, Issei. You only hit one target and then almost proceeded to get caught,” Hajime challenged. “Tendou is the only reason you didn't get hit and we’re not _all_ currently lamenting a loss.”

“Ouch Hajime.” Issei pressed a fist to his chest in mock pain “It’s like you don’t even care if you hurt my feelings,” Issei whined, his face carefully neutral which earned him narrowed eyes from Daichi and he had to fight a grin at preturbing them. “Besides, it’s not as though you have room to talk either, Mr. One Shot.”

“Oh, fuck you, Issei. I wasn’t the one ragging on Daichi,” Hajime fumed as he clapped the back of his head. Issei rubbed the injury with a grimace. Sometimes he wished Hajime would find someone else he was comfortable enough with to harass so violently. “Come on, let’s head out.”

They walked in silence for a moment, Issei still stewing over the pain now radiating at the back of his skull. He’d make Hajime pay for that, perhaps in the form of alcohol if Issei was lucky.

“So, we going to Riot tonight for happy hour?” Issei asked as they finished packing up and trudged on towards the parking lot. With his gear slung over his back, Issei followed behind them. He idly wondered how they’d all made it without someone falling victim to a heat stroke, the pavement hot beneath his feet even as the sun was setting behind them. Late afternoon slipped into early evening, cooling the air around them slightly as a small blessing, still Issei yearned for a cold shower to wash away the sweat clinging to his skin.

“No can do,” Daichi responded. “It’s date night.”

Issei groaned and dry heaved at the annoying fond smile on his face. Daichi was totally and completely smitten, an ongoing phenomenon since he and Issei had met. One that made Issei struggle to refrain from an eye roll on the best days and had him feeling physically ill on the worst. 

“Sorry, Issei. I hate to break it to you, but I’d much rather go home, unwind, and cuddle than get shitfaced watching you make a fool of yourself. Again.”

“Oh god. Stop. I think I might actually puke if you keep talking, Daichi.”

Daichi shrugged and flashed a knowing smile in place of a response. 

So yeah, Daichi was in a committed relationship and therefore the only one getting laid on the regular, but he didn’t have to shove his happiness down their throats. The rest of the group was varying shades of pathetic but definitely not in anything close to resembling a relationship.

“What about you Hajime?” Issei waggled his brows. “Want to come out and get lucky with me?”

“Fat chance in hell.”

“But it’s tradition.” Issei pouted. Typically speaking, their paintball games were a good way to make sure their training stayed intact during their slower seasons. It also allowed them to test out new strategies and to see what helped them best as a unit. Issei only joined in on these escapades to help pass time in between jobs.

Of course the copious amounts of drinking they did afterwards didn’t hurt Issei’s involvement. 

“Where’s Tendou? He’s always down for a good time.” Issei’s eyes roamed the group and their surroundings but there was no vibrant red hair amongst them. 

While he occasionally boasted of extreme past sexual encounters, much to Issei’s delight, Satori didn’t seem to be interested in the romantic facets of life any longer. Not that Issei could blame him, the catch was never worth the chase in his experience. No matter how interesting someone may initially be, they were bound to be a disappointment down the road. 

“Tendou said he had something to do after our match. He must have snuck out on us at some point,” Daichi explained, also checking out the vicinity. 

“Better luck next time.” Hajime smirked and Issei might have punched his shoulder if not for the fear of enticing his wrath. 

“Come on, Hajime,” Issei whined petulantly. “It’ll be fun. I might even buy your drinks.”

“No, shithead. I’m tired. I want to go home, shower, eat an actual meal for once, and go to bed.” Hajime glared at Issei, clear advice to proceed with caution. So Iwaizumi was not in a mood to play. That was fine. Issei knew how to play by himself.

“And don’t even think about going out without us. You know what happened last time,” Hajime warned, a violent glint to his otherwise unbothered expression. 

“That was one time!” Issei nearly shouted in defense. 

“One time too many,” Daichi murmured. 

“Listen. I just don’t want you going out and stirring up trouble just for shits n’ giggles. It’s bound to happen if I don’t go. Which I’m not. So you can’t either,” Iwaizumi insisted tersely, parroting the same deterrent over again in hopes of drilling it into Issei’s thick skull. 

Hajime spent all of his free time worrying over the safety and well-being of one Issei Matsukawa. Some days Issei felt guilty over that no small fact, but it wasn’t as though he were asking for Hajime’s unrelenting concern. Life was too predictable; Stirring the pot was sometimes the only way to keep things interesting and Issei couldn’t help himself. And yeah, sometimes it pissed off the wrong person and he too often found himself on the wrong end of a knife to his neck, but that was just who he was. Issei loved mischief and mayhem. It was in his blood.

So did Iwaizumi have any spare time to try to get his rocks off with some poor twink? No. Was it Issei’s fault?

Maybe.

“You concerned over lil’ ol me, Hajime?” Issei singsonged, tucking himself in close on Hajime’s side ducking slightly to accommodate their height difference. “Don’t worry, I’ll go straight home, shower, and then it’s lights out before eleven.”

“Don’t patronize me, asshole,” Hajime grumbled, pushing Issei out of his space. “You know we have a job in the morning and I don’t feel like picking up your slack.” He knew for a fact that Hajime would if he had to, but decided against voicing that fact less Issei wanted to collect yet another bruise today.

“Although I enjoy the thought of keeping you up late worrying over me, I’m actually too tired to go out and besides none of you all would be there. Who would I annoy?” 

“Promise?” Hajime asked. Issei did not miss the thinly veiled suspicion written across his face at his easy acquiescence.

“Swear.”

—x—

With a quick shower to rid himself of the stray paint splatters and sweat, and after a change of clothes, Issei was out of the door and back to the streets within thirty minutes of returning home. The air was a bit cooler now and Issei had opted out of sweats for once and was immediately regretting that particular decision. The fabric of his dark wash jeans might as well have been cardboard with the way it crinkled behind his kneecap with every step. They were hugging his thighs a lot more tightly than he remembered, a testament to how long it’d truly been since he’d last worn them. 

He made it to his pub of choice with little fanfare, immediately setting up shop on the barstool closest to the door, the plastic grey seat still warm from the body that had previously vacated it. Issei preferred having a quick exit at the ready should the need arise. It was a practiced habit, but one he followed relentlessly, even when others might deem it unnecessary.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked as he approached, a damp rag slung over his shoulder. His inky hair was in desperate need of a trim, parted in the middle to reveal a set of bored eyes and pointed facial features. How much could this bartender actually make with the personality of a wet paper bag? Issei sighed, filtering through a few explicitly named cocktails in his mind before saving the bartender from a sputtered response and deciding on a draft beer.

When he left to fetch a glass, Issei spun around, surveying the patrons with his elbows leaned back against the dark wooden surface of the bar. A few groups were littered around the pool tables as they watched their friends take turns aiming the balls into pockets but no one caught Issei’s attention enough for him to go to the trouble of introducing himself.

He wished his friends were around if only to have someone to bother. 

Issei sighed once more, turning back to face the bartender to trade his cash for a beer. Of course they were all far too busy with their personal lives to spare the time for Issei. Hajime was the only exception in that Issei was his personal life and self-sworn mission. He just required a break sometimes and honestly really deserved one, but the others didn’t have an excuse. He desperately needed better friends. 

Tendou and his stupid secretiveness. 

Daichi and his dumb relationship.

Issei wasn’t exactly certain how he successfully balanced the demanding hours of their employment and still maintained a healthy relationship. They’d been together for as long as he’d known Daichi and Issei didn’t think they’d be breaking up anytime soon if his job hadn’t split them up thus far. He suspected if he had to choose between the two though, Sawamura would no doubt choose his partner.

There was no one in this world Issei would pick if it meant losing his job in the process. Besides, the only thing Issei felt comfortable committing to were the pizza rolls waiting for him in his freezer when he got home. People were demanding, he didn’t have the time or patience to coddle someone. Issei’s job was cool and he was too damn good at it to give it up. Especially for something as pathetic and mundane as a lover. 

Still, his left hand could only fool him so much before the touch of another human being sounded mighty appealing. It should also be said that it went against the laws of nature for Daichi to be the one getting the most action in the office. It was Issei’s civic duty to act on the behalf of his coworker’s shortcomings.

Just as he was finishing off his beer and ready to summon the bartender for another, Issei felt a presence beside him. He turned, half expecting to find a belligerent Iwaizumi there to drag him to the safety of his home and instead finding someone else entirely.

_What a strange hair color_ , was his first thought. 

Light pink locks splayed every which way from underneath a knitted grey beanie. He didn’t think he’d ever seen such a unique color on someone before, made even more bewildering was the way he pulled it off so seamlessly. The stranger didn’t seem to notice his persistent gaze, but Issei sure as hell noticed those sharp features and the smirk playing naturally on his lips.

_He’s beautiful_.

“Another?” the bartender asked as he passed him to help the customers on the other end. Issei nodded, unable to summon any sort of verbal response.The bartender tilted his head in the direction of the man next to him, a silent demand for his order as he pulled a glass from the rack above his head and began pouring Issei’s beer.

“I’ll take whatever fruity seltzer beer you have and a Long Island,” the man with the rosy hair ordered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and staring down at the screen.

There was a rising panic in Issei, as the bartender handed over the seltzer before getting to work on the cocktail. He didn’t want this person to leave, but he wasn’t sure how to make him stay. The utter nerve of him to waltz over here all unique and hot and mysterious and ignore Issei’s silent pleas to be noticed. 

The stupidly beautiful stranger handed his money over to the bartender, patiently awaiting his change, back to eyeing his phone with disinterest. Issei wiped his sweaty palms on his too-tight jeans. It was now or never. He couldn’t place where the nervous twitch in his eye was coming from, it wasn’t as though Issei couldn’t summon the ability to be smooth when the occasion called. 

“I like your shirt,” Issei blurted just as the man spun around to claim a table.

Damn.

Issei silently hoped his shirt contained some random graphic and not something related to a weird fetish or hate slur. All Issei really caught was the royal blue flannel covering his arms before he became determined to win the one-man staring contest. 

Without missing a beat, the man turned to him, gave him a once over and said, “Thanks, I like your eyebrows.”

And when he spoke, Issei caught the silver glint of a tongue piercing. 

_Holy shit._

He needed a moment to calm down, but wooing the stranger was more important and so he swallowed down the sputtering in his chest and carried on.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Issei found himself saying despite his attempts to refrain from grinning.

The man hummed and held up the two drinks that Issei had just witnessed him purchasing.

“I’m all set for now,” he said before shooting Issei a wink and turning on his heel, but only made it half a step before stopping again.

Issei arched his eyebrow at him, hoping he liked his eyebrows enough to be suddenly seduced into coming back. He wrestled with the urge to waggle them for added effect, but the stranger smirked over his shoulder, lip tilting up into his cheek and all rational thought drained from Issei’s brain.

“I’ll let you get my next one though,” the man murmured. His beanie was pulled low enough to cover any hint of his expression aside from that smirk turned smug smile reminding Issei of the tongue ring that lay beneath.

The flutter stirring inside his chest was alarming.

Considering it as much of an invitation as he was going to get, Issei followed him back. They headed in the direction of another man sitting alone at a booth. His chestnut hair was deliberately feathered, giving him an air of superiority as he watched them approach behind his glasses. Issei had the distinct sense that he was being carefully calculated. 

“Who’s this?” the man asked as they rounded the table, pushing his glasses a little higher up on his nose. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, obviously not trusting Issei enough to even share space with his friend.

Which was totally fine honestly because Issei really shouldn’t be trusted.

“Geez, _dad_ , so embarrassing. We haven’t gotten there yet,” his acquaintance deflected, passing over his friend’s spritzer.

Issei swallowed his laugh in an attempt to save his dignity. It’d been a long time now since anyone outside of his immediate friend group had made him want to laugh aloud like that.

“I’m Takahiro,” he paused, extending a hand towards Issei. “But you can call me Daddy.”

“Nice to meet you Daddy, I’m Dom.” Issei grinned, his alias’ name rolling off his tongue before he could consider otherwise. He never used his real name when it came to any potential one-night suitors. He refused to question why it felt so strange in this instance.

“Dom as in dominoes? I do love a good game,” Takahiro retorted.

“Nah, Dom as in I’ll beat dat ass into submission.” Issei winked, enjoying their rapport just a little too much.

“Holy shit,” the man with the pompous hair murmured, his eyes wide. “There’s two of you.” Issei and Takahiro looked over to him speculatively before turning back to one another. Carrying on as though glasses-kun had never spoken at all.

“Just ignore him, he’s just not used to sharing the spotlight. Totally malfunctions when he’s not the center of attention,” Takahiro explained over the squawks of indignation sounding behind him. Issei couldn’t help the tilt to the side of his mouth.

“Hmm. I know the type.” Issei mirrored Takahiro’s grin, mischief alighting between them. “I can’t imagine how much time his face and hair routine must take in the mornings. What a nightmare.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Takahiro teased with a wince, speaking over the primadonna in question’s chorus of _Hey! You all stop that right now. I mean it. Quit ganging up on me. Makkkkkiiii!_

“Anyways,” Takahiro continued, motioning towards his friend. “This is Tooru. Contrary to popular belief, he does have some redeeming qualities sometimes.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Issei quipped.

“Excuse me,” Tooru chimed in with a fist against the table, rattling their drinks with the motion. “If you two are quite finished, I’ll be taking my dignity back.”

“Good luck with that one buddy,” Takahiro deadpanned and Issei hid a smile behind his hand. 

As the night wore on, the trio fell into easy conversation. Issei learned that Tooru was in fact a decent person and perhaps cared a little too much about things he had no business sticking his nose into; yet overall a pretty good guy. Eerily observant, but Issei was used to thriving under pressure.

Takahiro on the other hand… well, Issei didn’t know what to think.

He was equal parts provocative and snark. A conundrum consisting of handsome features and a personality designed just for Issei. It was so rare that he felt any sort of graviton towards anyone outside of Hajime and try as he might to suppress it, he was becoming more infatuated as the night wore on.

He liked that Takahiro had pink hair with a devil may care attitude. He liked that he wasn’t embarrassed by Issei’s snide comments, wasn’t put off by his apathy. Liked the way the words flowed between them as though they were on the same wavelength.

There was also the moment Takahiro got hot enough in the stuffy bar to take off his beanie and flannel, rewarding Issei with a look at his tattoos and piercings.

Issei liked that too. 

Issei hadn’t even realized he had any sort of fixation for that sort of thing until he saw them on Takahiro. They colored his arms and lined his ears in a way that had Issei staring for far too long to be platonic. Takahiro noticed and still, his occasional wink was the only admission he would show.

“LIT’s, huh?” Issei asked as they trudged towards the bar in search of their third round. 

When Tooru caught wind of his offer to buy Takahiro’s drinks, he whined and batted his eyelashes until Issei inevitably caved.

“Do I detect some judgement in that tone, Dom? I drink it because it’s like a suicide,” Takahiro said by way of explanation. When Issei only raised his brows in response, he huffed before continuing. “Yeah, you know where you get a fountain drink and then add a little bit of each soda until your cup is full? It’s like that, but with alcohol.”

“Hmm. Sounds fake but okay,” Issei gibed.

“What? You’ve seriously never done that before?”

“The fountain or alcohol version?”

Takahiro considered for a moment before landing on, “Either.”

“Nope. Never even heard of it.”

“Really?” Takahiro asked, disbelief lining his features as they approached the crowded bar and waited their turn for the bartender's attention.

“Yeah, though it probably has to do with the fact that I grew up hiding in my friends attic. I didn’t get out much,” Issei half lied.

“Ohhh, daddy issues.” Takahiro grinned beside him as Issei stared ahead, a frown plastered to his face. “Calm down, I have my fair share too.”

Takahiro got more interesting by the second and Issei’s best behaved impulse control was quickly waning.

Mustering all the bravado he could manage, Issei pressed a hand to the small of Takahiro’s back as he slid them out of the way of an oncoming patron. He was immediately rewarded with parted lips and a sharp intake of breath, so soft that Issei might have missed it had he not deliberately been looking for a reaction.

“Thank god, I thought you’d never grow the balls to touch me,” Takahiro said, but for all his snark the words came out a little breathless.

“You haven’t exactly been dropping any definitive signs, dear,” Issei countered, studying him from the corner of his eye.

“You lack enough subtlety for the both of us, babe.”

Cheeky fucking bastard. 

Issei wanted to eat him alive. 

But as it was, his pride was at stake, so he snatched his hand away despite the satisfaction stirring in his chest at the pet name.

“No, wait. Come backkk,” Takahiro whined, ever the petulant brat. While Takahiro’s pout did have mythical persuasion, Issei held firm. “I just like to play hard to get.”

“More like hard to get rid of.” Issei winked, snaking an arm around his waist as they were finally able to give their order over to the bartender.

Takahiro seated himself on one of the cheap plastic seats, turning around to face Issei as they waited. The dim bar lighting gave way to the impish gleam in his eyes. Issei couldn’t resist the wicked smile to match his temperament.

“You know, I’ve never been here before tonight,” Takahiro commented, studying the full expanse of the bar before settling his sights on Issei. “It’s not too bad.”

With the intensity of Takahiro’s gaze, Issei felt as though he might not be referring to the bar.

“Is that so?” He asked, taking a step forward and settling his waist slightly between Takahiro’s knees.

“Yeah, you know. It’s interesting but refreshing and it definitely has a presence I can vibe with. It’s totally hopeless at flirting though,” Takahiro challenged and Issei found himself leaning in subconsciously to meet it.

“Hmm. Maybe it’s hoping its inadequacies will come off as charming and cute instead of annoying.”

They were close enough to share breath, still not breaking the maintained eye contact. 

“It _might_ be working.”

“I’ve been told before that I am the kind of person who needs things spelled out for them, could you maybe help me out here? Are we still talking about the bar?” Issei feigned ignorance.

“Ugh shut up and kiss me already, asshole,” Takahiro demanded, pulling Issei’s shirt until their mouths were firmly pressed together.

Issei was lost to the slide of Takahiro’s lips on his own. He tasted of sour mix and something disgustingly sweet, a heady combination that went right through Issei’s veins. When Takahiro slid one hand to Issei’s nape and the other around his waist it was something akin to a religious experience.

Issei pressed closer, arms braced on the bar behind them as Takahiro clung on, his tongue wildly licking into Issei’s mouth. The groan lodged in his throat fought to break the precipice but Issei swallowed it, hand trailing to Takahiro’s side and hooking a finger into his belt loops. 

“Umh, excuse me,” the bartender stammered from behind the bar just as Issei was nipping at Takahiro’s bottom lip. “You can’t do that here.”

Issei backed his face from Takahiro, but remained caging him into his barstool. Between his arms, Takahiro had to lean his head on the bar to meet the bartender’s summons upside down. 

“Is this because we’re gay because I’ll have you know-“ Takahiro began before getting cut off. 

“Dude, no. It’s because we don’t allow _anyone_ to fuck on the bar,” he replied, nose crinkled in disgust.

“Oh,” Takahiro finished lamely as he picked his head up and looked back at Issei.

Issei couldn’t help but grin at the defeated expression on his face and kiss Takahiro one more time before standing to his full height. They offered reluctant apologies and collected their next round, heading back to the booth with their shoulders brushing.

Tooru was strangely quiet as they sat back down at their table, a slight pout to his lips and a refusal to meet their eyes. Takahiro released a weary sigh, propping his head on a fist.

“What now?”

“I saw your little display,” Tooru chided, flippantly waving his hand towards the bar. 

“And?” Takahiro challenged, taking a sip of his new beverage with a raised brow. 

“First of all, gross.” Tooru wrinkled his nose unpleasantly, brows pinched as he paused. Takahiro looked to Issei who just shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was gross. Did you think it was gross?” Takahiro asked.

“Definitely not. Is this about us being gay because-” Issei began to answer. 

“ _Second_ of all,” Tooru cut Issei off before they could lead the conversation too far astray. “I’m officially dubbing myself the third wheel,” Tooru let out on an exhale as he stretched his arms above his head, equal parts exasperated and genuinely tired. “I’m going to head out and leave before I see too much and have to have my eyeballs surgically removed.” His playful smile was almost endearing but it was overshadowed by Takahiro’s pout, which was nothing short of ethereal. Issei swallowed, running a hand over his face.

“Come on, don’t you want to find a bed to warm?” Takahiro winked but the effect was lost when his bottom lip continued to stick out. Issei snorted in response.

“Makki,” Tooru scolded, poking at Takahiro’s jutted lip. “We have company, don’t embarrass me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Virgin forever, I get it.” Takahiro rolled his eyes as he swatted at the hands on his face.

“I am not a virgin! Tell Dom I’m not a virgin,” Tooru squawked in outrage, turning to face Issei. 

“That suspiciously sounds like something a virgin would say,” Issei quipped, watching the rage simmer beneath Tooru’s skin with small satisfaction. 

“Whatever! You guys are the worst! Why did you have to meet?” Tooru whined before visibly calming down and moving past their jibes and into responsible adult mode. “Don’t forget we have work in the morning, Makki. Need I remind you that you’re out of sick days and are liable to be fired if you miss.”

“Sure,” Takahiro disregarded. “I get it, I’ll be there.”

“Okay then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he singsonged smugly before hugging Takahiro to his chest. From his peripherals Issei caught Tooru leaning down and whispering something he couldn't quite place to Takahiro, only to release him afterwards. It was strange but Issei was an amateur when it came to normally functioning friendships so he wouldn’t push the matter. 

“See you around, Dom. Take care of my Makki for me.” He winked, throwing up a peace sign and turning on his heel before Issei had the chance to respond. 

“What’s with the nickname?” Issei inquired when Takahiro turned to face him.

“Tooru has a terrible habit of making cutesy nicknames for everyone,” Takahiro replied with a disgusted wrinkle in his brow. “Stick around long enough and I’m sure you’ll get one. It’s the worst and I hate it. But you eventually get used to it.”

“I don’t know if I’d like to be subjected to that kind of torture, thank you very much.”

Takahiro snorted, the sound drowned out in the idle chatter around them. It was too loud in this bar and Issei was tipsy enough to want to get to know this man better; a quiet tap that has snowballed into a pressing need as the night wore on.

He’d consider what that meant later.

For now, he needed to get them out of there. He wanted to taste more of Takahiro and the bar, _apparently,_ was not the correct or moral setting. 

“You know…,” Takahiro began, pulling Issei from his thoughts as he swirled the glass in his palm. “The drinks are cheaper at my place.”

“Is that so?” Issei cocked an eyebrow. The suggestion was not lost on him nor the unnerving fact that they’d obviously been having similar thoughts.

“Mmm,” Takahiro confirmed noncommittally. “I’ve got some beers in the fridge and my own Netflix account.”

“How cheap is cheap?” 

“Hmm,” he considered. “It’ll probably run you a shot at the bar before we leave and something from the taco truck on the way back to my place.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap to get me alone so you can have your way with me? Besides, haven’t I been paying for your drinks all night?”

“Oh it’s most definitely a trap,” Takahiro agreed, nodding his head sagely. Issei let it slide that he avoided his second question. “Although our definitions of what ‘having my way with you’ means probably differ.”

“Oh, really?’’ His brow arched. “What’re you going to do to me? Does it involve any sharp objects?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Takahiro hummed, batting his eyelashes. Relentless little shit. “That is if you accept my offer, which you still haven’t done. Take it or leave it.”

He said it as though Issei had a choice in the matter. As if he hadn’t been doomed from the beginning. Takahiro enraptured Issei so wholly he couldn’t think of a single thing he’d rather do at that moment then go home with the man. As though the playful profanity and slights that came from his lips weren’t a balm to the terrible mundaneness the world was plagued with.

Issei stared at those obscenely glossy lips. He wondered what charming sounds he could elicit from them. He wondered what that wicked mouth might do if given the opportunity. 

Issei hoped he’d find out. 

“Sold.”


	2. Scrawny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oya? Love at first bone?” Kuroo pressed, taking a sip of his coffee in contrast to Morisuke’s gaze bouncing from person to person as they spoke.
> 
> “Don’t let him fool you. His Majesty gave me his full support last night.” Takahiro rolled his eyes when Kuroo’s grin widened, smelling blood in the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACKKK. Let’s pretend the length of this chapter has everything to do with flashbacks and nothing at all to do with my crazy chaotic spastic mind working and reworking details...  
> Anyways, here it is! I’m terribly sorry if it’s not as funny as the first.
> 
> Can I dedicate chapters to the same people over and over again? Oh well, I don’t care. 
> 
> Aimee, Nicki, and Jordan you are the blood and life of this whole thing. I wouldn’t be doing this if not for your constant encouragement. You all are everything to me :)

Scrawny - Wallows

_ I'm a Scrawny mother fucker with a cool hairstyle _

_ I say the wrong shit at the right times _

_ If I'm offending them I don't mind _

_ Maybe they all should listen to me _

_ It isn't all about what you see _

—x—

“Fuuck,” Takahiro whimpered, drawing the word out to match his temperament while pressing his palms onto his closed eyes until spots swam in his vision. The dull throbbing in his head was annoying enough that he was certain it would persist throughout the day. He smacked his tongue a few times, his mouth a wasteland that begged for any bit of moisture. Today would be fun, then.

He begrudgingly sat up, silencing his alarm before locking the screen and throwing himself back to the reprieve of his fluffy pillows, desperately wishing it wasn’t a workday. Takahiro wondered how Tooru was fairing, if he was able to wake up early enough to fix his hair just the right way before waltzing into work or if he was just as miserable as Takahiro, curled up in the comfort of his bed until the last possible moment. He supposed Tooru had cut out early enough that he’d more than likely be his normal, polished self. How had Takahiro gotten drunk enough to be feeling  _ this  _ hungover on a Thursday morning?

_ Dom. _

He bolted upright in bed, the previous evening coming back to him all at once in startling clarity. The jarring motion intensified the pain to a point that even Takahiro, the king of ignoring things he didn’t want to acknowledge, couldn’t shake the sharp jabs to his temples. He winced, holding a hand to his head and squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to protect himself from the sunlight streaming in through his curtains.

After giving himself a moment to regain his equilibrium, he slowly looked to the other side of the bed. Though he knew it’d be empty from the lack of response to all his jerking and rustling around, he was still relieved to find it long cold as his hand caressed the sheet. Relieved and yet slightly disappointed?

He’d think on that later.

For now, he needed a shower.

—x—

_ Linked arm-in-arm with Dom at his side and the smell of seasoned beef wafting in the air around them, Takahiro felt an unfamiliar lightness in his chest. There was a crispness in the air that was never present in the early summer evenings but was beginning to poke its head out now that fall was around the corner. He longed to untie his flannel from his waist and throw his arms into the sleeves but decided against chancing the contact with Dom. _

_ The small sea of patrons mingling around the food truck were illuminated by the soft lamplights looming above, stacks of steam trailing out of the makeshift kitchen’s exhaust system as they waited for Takahiro’s food.  _

_ And waited. _

_ And waited… _

_ Takahiro hummed, eyeing the twinkle lights strewn around the trees above the lampposts and tucking himself a little closer to Dom’s side. He always liked this street best at night, something about it placing him in a different time when everything didn’t feel so serious. He was oddly comfortable in the calm quiet that had settled around them, Dom’s hand tucked over his hip, a calloused finger running over exposed skin from time to time that left goosebumps trailing down Takahiro’s forearms.  _

_ “You know, this is definitely the longest I’ve ever waited for a meal from a food truck,” Dom observed, unfazed and only commenting on their current reality.  _

_ Takahiro had to admit he was right. There was a fairly large crowd for the late hour on a weekday, customers no doubt searching for anything still open that would aid in soaking the alcohol from their systems. He wasn’t really minding the wait so much, though maybe that had more to do with the six-foot-something mass of muscle whose arm he was unabashedly hanging onto.  _

_ “I’m not surprised. Their tacos are god-tier. Just you wait, I’ll let you try a bite of one of mine.” Takahiro winked, relishing in Dom’s slightly dazed expression. _

_ Dom recovered quickly, fisting a hand to the center of his chest before clearing his throat and quirking a brow.  _

_ “A bite?” Dom questioned indignantly. “You got four tacos and you can only spare a  _ bite _? What a tease.” He could feel Dom side-eyeing him but Takahiro held firm, refusing to give him the benefit of his attention as his suggestive tone. _

_ “If you were hungry, maybe you should have spoken up when the nice lady was taking our order.” Takahiro shrugged, pursing his lips to hide his grin.  _

_ “Well, I hope your godly tacos are worth the wait.” The heated glare so suddenly sent in Takahiro’s direction made him shiver. Such a contrast to his normally hooded and carefree gaze.  _

_ Oh.  _

_ Dom was actually mad. Perhaps Takahiro couldn’t read Dom as well as he’d initially thought. He was totally transparent through drinks at the bar, Takahiro always finding Dom’s eyes looming on Takahiro’s lips whenever Dom thought he wasn’t looking. It seemed entirely out of character for him to react like that over something so trivial. _

_ Oh? _

_ As soon as the thought had crossed the threshold of his mind, Takahiro noticed Dom’s gaze at his mouth, eyeing him with all the intentions of a lion looking over its next meal. Was he not so much mad as… inconvenienced? Takahiro met his stare only to find Dom’s pupils blown wide, a tongue poking out to run over his bottom lip absently.  _

_ Ohhh… _

_ “Some things are just worth the wait, ya know?” Takahiro murmured, moving slightly away from Dom’s side to better face him, a hand resting on Dom’s shoulder.  _

_ “That’s yet to be determined.” A corner of Dom’s mouth ticked upwards into a mocking smile that twisted in Takahiro’s gut, turning all methodical thoughts into something a little more ravenous. “I guess we’ll have to see after I taste it.” _

_ Damn him. Damn that seductive tone and damn the underlying suggestion . How could someone making an innuendo about tacos sound so sexy? He’d never met anyone quite like Dom before, someone both idiotically endearing and completely disarming. It was thrilling being at Dom’s side, silently eye-fucking each other as the familiar waves of alcohol washed through him. They were close enough that Takahiro could feel Dom’s breath fanning across his face, stirring something within him that he wasn’t ready to mull over. _

_ Feelings were gross, but riding Dom into a mutual euphoric oblivion was not. Luckily for both of them, Takahiro’s feelings were purely primal.  _

_ As if Dom could sense his shift in thinking, he reached out, tracing a thumb over Takahiro’s lips. Amusement and something a little deeper danced in his eyes as he let out a low laugh at whatever he found in Takahiro’s expression. He didn’t dare to utter another word, leaning down and slotting his mouth over Takahiro’s with no warning.  _

_ Dom tasted of draft beers back at the bar a lifetime ago and a relentless need to be closer. Touch skin to skin. Take anything and everything that Takahiro had to give. Taste his body as if he had all the time in the world to memorize the imperfections and lines across his flesh. A flavor palette so complex it made Takahiro’s head spin.  _

_ He couldn’t find it within himself to care about the curious and disgusted stares they were probably on the receiving end of, didn’t care that they were making a spectacle on this busy street with a dark muddled sky above them. Takahiro slid his hands to fist in Dom’s hair, the world around them falling away to the recesses of his mind. _

_ Takahiro inhaled a steadying breath against Dom’s mouth, his aroma seizing his good sense as he hitched a leg over a thigh and rolled his hips. A promise of things yet to come. Dom responded in kind, gripping the flesh above his jeans that his fingers had previously been trailing with one hand and cupping the side of Takahiro’s head with the other. Takahiro was lost to the push and pull of their lips, the way their height difference wasn’t a hindrance but a bonus, the way they aligned so completely. They kissed as though they were already inherently familiar with the curves and sensitive nerves endings in one another’s bodies.  _

_ Takahiro’s blood rushed south as Dom’s tongue grazed his lower lip in a silent request. He caught the moan in his throat and hummed his approval instead, opening for him fully. When Dom’s tongue finally slid in at the same time that his hand glided down to curve at his ass, Takahiro’s head emptied completely, caught up in the blissful moment where he only had the capacity to care about the here and now. _

_ Takahiro’s wayward thoughts were interrupted by a soft tapping on his shoulder and when he finally managed to pull away from Dom, the burn of the kiss lingered on his lips. He turned his head to find a stranger above his line of vision, long hair tied in a loose bun on the back of his head as Takahiro looked up at him. His hand was reached out in the area between them as though uncertain that he wouldn’t get pulled into their embrace if he were to actually tap a second time.  _

_ “Uhh, sorry to interrupt,” the stranger stammered, pulling his hand back to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. His height may have made him intimidating were it not for the blush rising high on his cheekbones. “But… ah, umh… I think your food is ready.” _

_ Takahiro blinked at the random man next to him, his surroundings falling back into place as he remembered his mission for tacos. When he turned back to face Dom, his hair was mussed from Takahiro’s roaming hands, wavy strands sticking up in different directions. _

_ Takahiro, dizzy, elated, and hungry, couldn’t help but tip his head back and laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. Dom’s grin into the crook of Takahiro’s neck only enhanced the giddy spark coursing through his veins.  _

_ “Time to taste your tacos.” Dom’s murmured words into the shell of Takahiro’s ear were both a threat and a promise.  _

_ And Takahiro wondered if this was what freedom felt like.  _

—x—

An hour later found Takahiro pulling into an empty parking space and cutting his engine. He stared up at the expanse of the grey stone tower in front of his windshield. The building stood tall, raised by sharp, sleek pillars on every corner and connected by a webbing of glass that framed every individual office. Men and women in suits dotted the insides of the tight-lined squares, already at work as the sun rose in the horizon behind them. 

After having some time to quietly contemplate his life choices and everything that had happened the previous evening, he was in much higher spirits.

Though his mood dampened whenever he remembered the thirty-six and counting unread texts from Tooru he’d purposely avoided this morning. There would certainly be hell to pay.

He’d deal though. He grinned to himself before exiting the car and bounding into the office, security badge in hand. 

Yes, Takahiro was known to make such egregious mistakes on occasion that he sometimes wondered how much he’d affected the trajectory of his life based on impulsive decisions. But this, well… it felt different. 

He noticed eyes on him the moment he’d approached the bar, made even more apparent when the man had refused to look away. Takahiro had begun to wonder if he would grow the balls to actually approach him or if he’d have to spend his night fighting the urge to shout ‘WHAT?’ from across the bar. And when he turned to head back to Tooru, he was ready to pound the drink in his hand and head out to the next bar. 

But then Dom had complimented his shirt and it had tailspin into an evening of collective moments of heat and laughter, a notion both completely foreign and welcome to the confines of Takahiro’s rib cage.

Takahiro entered the building, nodding at the security guard behind the counter in place of an actual greeting. He smiled in return just as Takahiro approached the empty elevator chambers, calling for one with the press of a button.

Their office space was a standing paradox, the wall of windows somehow shadowing all the dark deals and shady agreements happening behind closed doors. It wasn’t that their employment was necessarily sinister, but it admittedly wasn’t as chipper as the light mahogany floors or crown molding might have suggested. Takahiro supposed that was the very reason they conducted their business in the middle of a busy sector, hiding in plain sight.

His boss was a crafty one, after all. He wouldn’t have been able to claw his way to the top otherwise. 

There was a scuffle happening towards the entrance of the building as he swiped his badge and entered the elevator. Still, Takahiro didn’t have the capacity to care about things not currently happening to himself until he turned to select his floor and found Tooru shoulder checking the building employees in his rush.

_ Oh, hell. _

“Hold the elevator!” Tooru yelped. Takahiro bit back his smile as Tooru charged full speed towards him, papers haphazardly tucked into the crook of his arm. Takahiro nonchalantly pressed the ‘close door’ button, tucking his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall as the doors slid shut. 

“Makki! You son of a bitch! I forgot my badge on my desk last night! Open the door!” Tooru demanded, banging his fists on the metal exterior from the other side.

Takahiro debated letting the car rise to his designated floor and leaving Tooru to deal with his own problems. It would buy Takahiro some more time to avoid him, but then he’d have to listen to his petulant whining all day, a problem he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He sighed before taking sympathy and opening the doors once more to let Tooru join him.

The sting of regret struck Takahiro fully when they were enclosed once more and Tooru turned to face him. A coy smile tilted his lips as he taunted Takahiro, his security badge dangling from his fingers.

“You sneaky bastard!” Takahiro screeched as he slowly backed into the corner, hands raised in a placating gesture as if he could evade the oncoming doom. “How dare you lie to my beautiful face so early in the morning! You know I'm especially gullible when I first wake up!”

“Shut up. If you didn’t want this, you could have replied to at least one of my texts,” Tooru chided as he took a few steps in his approach to Takahiro, caging him in as though he were some sort of rabid animal that needed pacifying. “What happened after I left? Tell me everything.”

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Takahiro speculated, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. It was totally a Tooru thing to do.

His partner remained silent under the guise of demanding answers, which Takahiro took to mean that his inference was correct. He probably got here at an ungodly hour, waiting in the parking lot for Takahiro to arrive in case he came early to avoid this specific situation, and timed his entry in the building to coincide with the moment he would be stepping onto the elevator. All so he could get Takahiro alone and pry the answers he was seeking. 

How annoyingly brilliant. 

Takahiro would have expected it had he not been dealing with a hangover the size of two mountains stacked on top of each other. The joke was on Tooru though, Takahiro wouldn’t cave so easily. 

“Just because you can’t get a boyfriend yourself doesn’t mean you get to live vicariously through me!” Takahiro palmed Tooru’s face away from him, helplessly looking for a nonexistent escape strategy. “Now, get off of me. You have coffee breath and it’s disgusting.”

Tooru pulled his hands away all at once, eyeing him thoughtfully, a slight sense of accusation hovering on his tongue. Takahiro nearly flinched under that all-knowing scrutiny.

The emergency trap door above them was looking mighty seductive when Tooru’s reply finally came. 

“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”

Takahiro had to reel in his initial dramatic reaction to the question. He really wasn’t ready for the barrage of questions that would come his way if he answered truthfully. Even though he’d spent all morning thinking over it, Takahiro wasn’t even sure he knew the answers to whatever Tooru would ask. 

“No,” Takahiro lied simply.

“Liar,” Tooru purred, ever the conniving empath. “Just how late did you stay out last night?” There was a smile threatening to surface on Tooru’s lips and Takahiro had to reign in the urge to smack a fist to his chest. Tooru was enjoying this a touch too much and Takahiro’s mind was too addled to adequately defend himself. 

He should know by now, though that Takahiro wouldn’t be complicit so easily, especially when backed into a literal and figurative corner.

“None of your business.” Takahiro grinned, the chime for their floor sounding in the finality of a finished conversation. 

Sidestepping Tooru was a feat in gall but Takahiro managed, whistling as he emerged on their level. Tooru’s irritation as he trudged behind was palpable, but Takahiro refused to let it dampen his spirits. 

Takahiro had spent enough time on their floor to know it well, from what hallway led to which department, down to how the small red blotch staining the carpet came from a too-heated debate between Kuroo and Morisuke, one fierce enough to draw blood. The off-white walls were interrupted every so often by the clear glass doors encasing the various office spaces, the view inside obscured by the curtains hung inside for a sense of seclusion. Dealing in secrets required at least a modicum of privacy, something these idiots couldn’t seem to manage with their own lives.

“Hey Kuroo,” Takahiro chirped as he rounded the corner to his left and waltzed into the break room. The duo stood beside the sputtering coffee maker, the speckled quartz island between them littered with stacks of paper as was typical fashion. A lot could be said about his squad, but being neat or tidy never made the list. Morisuke was the only exception to this rule, but had long grown tired of cleaning up their messes. 

Kuroo cocked his head to the side as he stirred a bit of creamer into his cutesy cat mug. Morisuke at his side didn’t bother looking up from the file in hand when Takahiro and Tooru entered the room, a slight nod the only acknowledgement he would show.

“What's with the spectacular attitude? He’s normally impossible to deal with until we’ve gotten at least two cups of coffee in his system,” Kuroo gibed, eyes squinted in Takahiro’s direction.

“I also suspect he has a hangover, but I’ve seen too little evidence to confirm,” Tooru chimed in, following Takahiro as they congregated around the coffee maker. 

“Oya? What's the occasion?” Kuroo questioned, a mischievous smile lighting his face. 

“He won’t admit it, but I’m fairly certain he got dicked down last night. He met someone at the bar and judging by the way they hit it off… almost impossibly well, I think the night treated him well enough.” Tooru paused, his tone turning more condescending when he continued. “It was honestly pretty alarming. Suddenly there were two Takahiro’s ganging up on yours truly. For self-preservation’s sake, I ran out early in the evening.”

“Oya? Love at first bone?” Kuroo pressed, taking a sip of his coffee in contrast to Morisuke’s gaze bouncing from person to person as they spoke. Always observing.

“Don’t let him fool you. His Majesty gave me his full support last night.” Takahiro rolled his eyes when Kuroo’s grin widened, smelling blood in the water.

“Yes, well, I rescind my blessings until you begin answering some questions, Makki,” Tooru insisted. Takahiro wouldn’t be able to deflect for much longer, but he could hopefully still buy himself enough time to get rid of his crushing headache.

“Sure, sure,” Takahiro answered noncommittally, knowing it would irk Tooru’s nerves as well as anything.

Tooru crossed his arms over his chest, eyes landing skyward as though praying for the patience to endure Takahiro for the day, or perhaps wishing he’d fall from the face of the Earth.

“We’re talking about this later,” Tooru warned, wrath lurking behind his gaze. 

And because Takahiro was fully embracing his inner child this morning, he replied, “You can’t make me.” He contemplated sticking his tongue out too until he realized the desired effect had landed when Tooru’s shoulders stiffened. 

“Get ready. We have surveillance in an hour,” Tooru snapped coldly before recomposing himself and heading back the way he came. Takahiro was thankful his dismissal had its desired effect but longed for the safety of his own desk in which he didn’t have to pretend there wasn’t an anvil sitting square on his temples.

“Can’t you save us all the trouble and just tell him what he wants to hear?” Kuroo groaned once Tooru was out of earshot, doubling over with his hand on Morisuke’s shoulder for support. 

Morisuke only wrinkled his nose, staring at Kuroo’s hand as though it had personally offended him before taking a step to the side and letting it hang limply between them. He brushed his shoulder off, turning to face Takahiro again. 

“Don’t let him push you into talking about it if you’re not ready, but you know he’ll get it out of you eventually. There’s not much use in delaying the inevitable.” Morisuke tilted his head to the side, an unnerving habit that always left Takahiro on edge. 

“I know,” Takahiro murmured, surprised by his own easy acceptance. “And I will, I’m just trying to get rid of this massive headache first.” Takahiro winced when Kuroo doubled over again, this time with raucous laughter that sent a jolt of pain lancing through him. 

“What's so funny, asshole?” Takahiro sneered, unwilling and unable to ignore Kuroo’s sudden shift in mood. 

“The bastard was right,” Kuroo wheezed, his hand finding the countertop in favor of Morisuke’s shoulder this time. “You  _ are _ hungover.”

“Shut up!” Takahiro hissed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to ensure Tooru had indeed left. It wouldn’t be the first time he lingered to get additional details people feared to actually say in his presence. “People get random headaches all the time, especially in your presence, asshole!”

“What a wide range of vocabulary you ha-” Morisuke began before Kuroo cut in once more. A fact that Morisuke was none too keen on if his expression was any indication. 

“Wait… does that mean you also got laid? Like forreal?” There was a bewilderment on Kuroo’s face that left Takahiro wondering if he should be flattered or offended. 

Takahiro sighed a little more dramatically than strictly necessary. The busybodies in this building knew no bounds when it came to any possible crumbs of information. To be fair, the better part of their job was collecting secrets and trading them for money, still, it gave them no excuse to make it their personal mission to get their grimy hands on every minor rumor floating around the office. 

While Takahiro enjoyed overhearing the occasional juicy piece of gossip he could later extort something out of someone for, he had no interest in being on the other end of it. 

“Would it really be all that surprising if I did?” Takahiro’s hands fisted at his sides as he willed all the ire he had the energy to muster into his gaze.

“I mean, well yeah. Kind of.” Kuroo grinned unabashedly, setting his coffee down and rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

Maybe Kuroo had a deathwish because Takahiro was not in the mood to be fucked with. 

But just as Takahiro took a step, fist winding behind him, Morisuke sidestepped Kuroo to place himself in the line of the coarse static pulsing between them. Takahiro didn’t miss the quick warning glare flashed in Kuroo’s direction nor the pinch to Kuroo’s side before Morisuke faced him.

“As much as I’d love to see Kuroo draw blood before lunch, boss is going to have our asses if we don’t at least pretend to do some work soon,” Morisuke reminded them. “Besides, who cares what Kuroo thinks. He’s a moron and his opinion doesn’t count.”

Takahiro chuckled wryly against Kuroo’s gasp of indignation before feeling the fight leave his body, apathy quickly swooping in to take its place. Morisuke was right. As always. No matter how satisfying it would be to have Kuroo’s face beneath his fists, it definitely wouldn’t be worth the repercussions. 

Oftentimes Morisuke assumed the role of the only logic in a room among petty squabbles and playful instigations, but he was still known to stir the pot every now and again. Takahiro was just thankful he was present to defuse the current situation as Takahiro was always too contentious after a night of drinking to be expected not to pick fights with his friends.

Takahiro drained the remaining coffee in his mug, picking up a napkin from the stack on the counter and spitting out the grounds that had made their way through the shitty coffee maker’s filter. Morisuke exhaled softly, falling back to rest his weight on the counter behind him. Kuroo’s coffee was now back in hand, his smug smile grating on Takahiro’s nerves a little more every second it was still plastered to his face. 

“I have to go prepare for Tooru’s line of questioning. If you find any Advil, you know where to find me.”

Kuroo opened his mouth, a snarky retort loaded up, but the words died on his tongue as Takahiro approached the pair. He said nothing, smirk dancing on his lips as he met Kuroo’s eyes and dropped his used napkin into Kuroo’s fresh cup. Morisuke sputtered out a laugh as Kuroo looked back and forth between his mug and Takahiro’s batted lashes. 

“See you later,  _ assholes _ .” Takahiro used his middle digits to shoot finger guns in their direction as he winked before rounding the corner, leaving Kuroo’s hurt expression and Morisuke’s cackling behind. 

—x—

_ “You’re right about these,” Dom announced around a mouthful of his second taco as they sat on Takahiro’s floor in front of the television. “You’ve given me a new reason to live.” _

_ Luckily for Dom, the vendor had profusely apologized for their wait, sliding two extra tacos into their bag for the inconvenience. They both agreed the surplus in food had been well worth the wait, but the heated glances Dom kept stealing told a different story entirely. _

_ “How sweet,” Takahiro cooed. “I’ll give you a few more reasons once we’re finished eating, big boy.” _

_ “Looking forward to it, dear,” Dom challenged without missing a beat, his eyes never wavering from the glow of the television.  _

_ Takahiro had ignored the bemused look on Dom’s face when they’d entered his place in favor of explaining himself. He never bothered to prepare people for the sheer audacity that was his apartment. No matter how many warnings he spouted, people were still astonished nonetheless and he only ended up sounding like an arrogant prick in the meantime. _

_ Takahiro made a stupid amount of money. He also liked to spend said money very stupidly. _

_ While moving his stuff to the top floor had been a test in patience, it had all been worth it for the view overlooking the city. The interior was decked out in a plethora of baubles ranging from actual artwork he admired, to stupid impulse purchases when he was out and about. Takahiro had a total of seventeen different game consoles, a wall full of movie options, and six flat-screen TVs that were larger than any single man living alone required, but quite frankly, Takahiro didn’t care.  _

_ He liked his expensive rugs and sleek modern furniture. He liked being able to see the city below and the sun rising on the horizon when he felt like it. He liked that he had the illusion of freedom to pursue his wills and wishes.  _

_ But of course there was the small issue of figuring out how to explain what he did to make enough money to cover the large stack of bills every month. Takahiro wasn’t concerned enough with the future of whatever this chemistry was between them to worry over explanations. Fortunately, Dom didn’t ask. If he hadn’t appreciated Dom’s indifference before, he certainly was now. _

_ “Are there any left?” Dom asked as he carded through the crumpled wrappers littering the floor. _

_ Takahiro hummed, his last taco in hand. Their eyes met overtop of it as he peeled back its parchment casing. Dom’s brow was raised in silent question as though he didn’t know how this would all play out. Takahiro elbowed his ribs, unable to stop himself from making physical contact. Dom only grunted before batting him away, his brow markedly higher than before. _

_ “I would literally rather die than give you the last taco,” Takahiro deadpanned. _

_ Dom barked out a laugh, bright and unhindered, before leaning back on his hands. Takahiro couldn’t help but watch in awe as his back muscles flexed from the added weight, Dom’s shirt stretching so tight Takahiro wondered if it might burst.  _

_ He kind of hoped it would.  _

_ “I bought them and we ended up with six. Shouldn’t it be an even split down the middle?” Dom reasoned. _

_ “Nice try, buddy boy,” Takahiro began before pointedly taking a bite, effectively staking his claim. “I tried to tell you before, a bite is all I'm willing to give of my stash but you were too busy eye-fucking me.” _

_ “Oh, really?” Dom purred and Takahiro could tell by the sweep of his eyes that Dom no longer had any interest in the food. _

_ Takahiro only raised his thin brows, giving his best attempt at a straight face under the heated glance. “You’re doing it again,” he singsonged. _

_ “Am I?” Dom questioned like the big stupidly perfect idiot that he was, tone dropping an octave. _

_ Takahiro only nodded, his crunching echoing loudly in his ears as he contemplated the merits of discarding the taco and launching himself at Dom. It was a monumental effort in self-control, but Takahiro was not in the business of being the one to break first. _

Dangerous.  _ Dom was so very dangerous for Takahiro. He was liable to forgo his life as he knew it for a chance to sink his teeth into the corded muscle that lay beneath Dom’s shirt. Dom was complex but totally aloof and if Takahiro didn’t do something about the pounding in his chest, he might just explode.  _

_ And as if to accentuate his point in large bolded letters, Dom leaned over just as Takahiro was taking a bite, stealing one for himself on the other side. Dom’s eyes slid away as he righted his posture, refusing to meet Takahiro’s questioning look. _

_ “Did you just lady and the tramp me?” Takahiro asked anyways.  _

_ “Uhh, maybe? But I think it works better with spaghetti.” The flush kissing the tips of Dom’s ears were definitely dumb and not at all endearing, Takahiro tried repeating to himself. “Besides, you said I could have a bite.” _

_ Takahiro warred with his default urge to pout, instead tilting his face somewhat out of sight. Dom was hot and stupid and stupidly hot and Takahiro just wanted to hide his own rising pink from his dumb sexy hooded eyes. _

_ When Dom reached a hand out to brush his fingers against the back of Takahiro’s arm in an attempt for his attention, Takahiro’s whole body zeroed in on the single point of contact. _

_ It was strange, really, the way the static swelled between them, how Takahiro couldn’t help but to level Dom with a glance. The heat was still pooling in his gaze, only this time it mingled with another unnamed emotion that said Dom could feel it too. _

_ And then Dom was lifting him up into his strong arms, surprising Takahiro enough that a yelp slid past his lips as he went airborne. Dom chuckled, adjusting them until Takahiro’s legs were wrapped around his waist and Dom was palming his ass to support the weight. Wasting enough time already, Takahiro pressed their mouths together, sliding his tongue in seamlessly.  _

_ Dom took a few steps, unhampered by Takahiro’s hands gliding through his array of curls, tugging on the roots whenever Dom’s grip tightened. Takahiro choked back a groan as Dom broke their contact without warning. _

_ “Uhh…” Dom began amidst Takahiro’s whine of protest. “I was totally trying to be suave about this, but I just realized I have no idea where your bedroom is in this  _ mansion _.” _

_ Takahiro couldn’t even really be upset with the gross overstatement, he would definitely have some questions over why such a large space was needed for a guy presumably living alone, but still he rolled his eyes before pointing down the hallway to the side of the living room. Dom only laughed again, sealing their mouths again as he began walking towards the pointed direction only pulling away when they were facing their destination. _

_ “You know, it's probably too late to ask this, but you don’t like... trick people into sleeping with you so you can sell them on the black market, do you?” Dom asked, pausing at the threshold as he stared in wonder at the expensive looking art lining his bedroom walls. _

_ Takahiro could only stare, eyes wide at the ridiculous and wildly inappropriate suggestion, a smile hinting at his lips when he finally responded, “Did you google me or something when I wasn’t looking?” _

_ “Is it bad that I don’t really care either way?” Dom decided, ignoring Takahiro’s affirmation though Takahiro couldn’t find it within himself to comment when Dom began walking again.  _

_ And though Dom asked no further questions, apparently true to his word of being impervious to his wealthy lifestyle mystery, Takahiro still found himself explaining.  _

_ “I’m a trust fund baby.” Takahiro winked. _

_ “Spoiled brat through and through,” Dom chided before dropping him onto the bed with enough velocity that Takahiro bounced up before settling. He didn’t balk from Dom’s searing gaze as it roamed Takahiro’s form stretched out on the bed. Dom loomed above him as though held on an invisible leash, tethering him just out of reach.  _

_ But then all at once, Dom was on him again, an elbow on each side of Takahiro’s head to hold himself up as he adjusted. Dom swooped in to steal his lips again, lingering in a way that turned their kisses into something a little softer.  _

_ “Awfully sexy of you, Dom.” Takahiro chuckled breathlessly when they broke apart. Dom’s laugh in return skittered across his bones, his smile a flash of white amidst the dark undertones accenting his room. _

_ “If you liked that, then you’re really going to like what I have for you next,” Dom smirked and damn if the fire in his eyes wasn’t satisfying.  _

—x—

“Fuckkk. Will today ever get any easier?” Takahiro cursed, eyeing the empty coffee maker in front of him. He needed to choke down at least one more cup before he could bear to face Tooru again. It was too late to wait for the ancient thing to percolate and definitely too late to venture out to grab a cup at the corner store before they had to leave.

Takahiro had learned the hard way long ago when he was two minutes late to arrive for a grunt mission he’d been assigned to when he’d first gotten on with the company. The party had left without him, of course. He was never formally reprimanded for his absence, but the sting of getting docked a day of pay and the blow to his ego at being left behind was enough to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Takahiro rubbed at his eyes with one hand, slamming a fist to the counter with his other. All he wanted was another cup of coffee. He’d take it intravenously if he could. Hell, he’d even take it black if he had to. 

“I don’t think the counter did anything to warrant your harassment, Takahiro,” a voice spoke from behind him, startling Takahiro from his place in front of the counters but he didn’t bother turning around. 

“Yes, well, I’ve done nothing to deserve the punishments that have befallen me today, but here we are,” Takahiro mumbled, leaning his head against the cold surface of the cabinets lining the wall in front of him. It was centering, something to aid his muddled mind before he truly had to face the day. 

When Takahiro finally gathered the strength to face him, Morisuke was standing in the doorway, a hip leaned on the frame as he drank from the lip of one of the tumblers in his hands. His gaze was curious, lining his face in a way that almost made him seen serene, but Takahiro knew the ferocity that lurked beneath his skin. He just hoped he could get his hands on that other tumbler before the claws came out.

“Right, because it was someone else that forced all those shots down your throat and made you stay out all night,” Morisuke scoffed, sipping his coffee nonchalantly. “I just came in to make sure you were okay before you went out. It’s never good when you and Tooru go on a mission when you’re at odds. You both always come back bitchy and sulking.”

“We’ll be fine. Tooru just doesn’t understand how boundaries work, but we’ll figure it out,” Takahiro reassured.

“I hope so for everyone’s sake. You’re a tyrant whenever you and Tooru aren’t on speaking terms,” Morisuke teased, finally closing the distance between them and sobering in an instant. “So you really like him, huh?”

And while the change in subject gave him whiplash, he now knew what Morisuke’s rare benevolence would cost him. Coffee for a conversation about his  _ feelings _ . Gross.

Unfortunately for Takahiro, he wasn’t really in a position to refuse when Morisuke was holding the only thing separating him from an afternoon of dodging questions with the lingering effects of a headache. But he couldn’t exactly hold Takahiro’s caffeine hostage and expect him to be perfectly complicit.

“I mean, I guess. We got along really well, if you know what I mean.” Takahiro’s eyebrows waggled dramatically in hopes of avoiding whatever point Morisuke was bound to make.

“I’m happy for you, really I am,” he said before taking a thoughtful pause. “I know you don’t need the reminder, but I'm going to say it anyway.”

Ah, his daily dose of Morisuke’s endless wisdom. At least Morisuke had the grace to hand him the other coffee before continuing. Takahiro immediately burned his mouth taking a hearty swig, not caring as the warmth flooded his veins.

“Balancing our employment and any kind of life outside of it is nearly impossible. I’ve tried it. Tooru has tried it. Kuroo would try it if anyone were desperate enough to want him.” Takahiro grinned at the easy slight Morisuke always had at the ready if it was at Kuroo’s expense. “Relationships are a huge gamble and work has been a little… rougher on you lately. I just don’t want you to lose your focus.”

Takahiro didn’t need the reminder. He knew what was expected of him.

“Ew. Why is everyone trying to parent me? It’s disgusting.” Takahiro’s nose scrunched. Morisuke chuckled darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your warning is moot though,” Takahiro added. “I know next to nothing about the guy. I’ll honestly probably never see him again.” And while he sounded very chill about it, the feeling in his chest was markedly un-chill, though he’d never admit it.

“Hmm, I guess we’ll see,” was Morisuke’s only response. 

—x—

“I wonder if he’s on a date,” Takahiro pondered aloud, his head resting in his open hand, elbow bent on the armrest between them.

“Nah, he’s just having lunch with his dad,” Tooru responded, his eyes fixed on the restaurant a street over from their parked nondescript company car. The windows of the restaurant were tinted enough that it was impossible to make out the figures mingling behind them. Takahiro used to wonder if they would ever follow their target on his random outings but when he’d asked, Tooru had only told him the boss’ one rule on this particular job.

Do  _ not  _ be discovered. 

It would apparently defeat the whole purpose of whatever it is they were doing by following the man from restaurant to his friend’s flat to the convenience store to his home when he was finished running around for the day. It seemed like a crock of shit, if you asked Takahiro.

“Boring.” Takahiro yawned. “Why does Washijo even send us out here? This guy is as interesting as a sack of flour. He never does anything to warrant us watching him run errands every few days.”

Oddly enough, Tooru had barely spoken since they’d gotten into the car, let alone given him the onslaught of rapid-fire questions Takahiro had expected. Takahiro should have been grateful for the quiet that settled around them, but he couldn’t help being a little skeptical. Tooru continued his vigilant watch of the building, his eyes never straying to Takahiro.

Tooru drummed his fingers absently on the dashboard. “Because he is our boss and we have to do what he says if we want to see a paycheck,” he replied evenly. 

“Yeah, but you hate this as much as I do, don’t you?”

“I mean it’s not terribly exciting, but it’s a far cry from getting stuck with paperwork.” Tooru narrowed his eyes before finally turning to face Takahiro. “Why are you suddenly so vehemently opposed to surveillance jobs?”

“It’s not all surveillance, it’s just  _ this  _ job. It's so boring,” Takahiro whined. “Why does he need both of us here?”

“I suspect it’s  _ because _ it’s boring that there’s two of us assigned. But who knows with Washijo. He’s never made much sense to me.”

“I wonder if Grimm would figure out a way to watch this guy without having to actually be present for it, ya know?” Takahiro sighed wistfully. “That’s the dream right there. Getting paid to do a dope ass job from home.”

“Nah, he doesn’t take surveillance jobs anymore. Says they’re a waste of his time.” Tooru shrugged. 

“My point exactly,” Takahiro grinned smugly, leaning back in his seat to stretch his legs out. “You know, I always forget someone as lame as you knows someone that fucking cool.”

“Whatever, Makki.” Tooru stuck his tongue out, furrowing his brow for the full effect. “I know all kinds of really awesome people, yourself excluded, but Grimm and I know each other pretty well. We used to be really close before he settled down.”

“Oh yeah?” Takahiro’s mouth twisted into a smirk as he wiggled his brows suggestively. “How close?”

“Close enough to think I was in love with him once.”

Well, Takahiro certainly hadn’t expected that turn in conversation. They were treading uncharted territory and Takahiro was finding himself utterly unprepared. In the last six years or so that he’d known Tooru, he’d never admitted any sort of feelings for someone beyond the occasional appreciation of an attractive person. Sure, he was fluent in flirting with someone to the point they gave him anything he wanted, but that didn’t mean he was capable of attempting anything that resembled a relationship.

When Takahiro collected himself enough to reply, all he could think to say was, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Tooru smiled sincerely. “That was ages ago.’’

And maybe it was due to Tooru’s quiet admission that Takahiro finally said, “I think I really like him.”

It came out in a rush of words but he knew Tooru heard it judging from his sharp inhale of breath.

“I just,” Takahiro began, pausing as he searched for the right words, “I don’t know. It was weird, right?”

“Very weird.” Tooru chuckled, his gaze softening enough to make Takahiro antsy. Still, he was giving him the space to figure out his feelings, a small mercy. 

“I don’t know,” Takahiro parroted. “It’s like… you and I have been coworkers for years, right?”

“I’d like to think of us more as friends, but go on.”

Takahiro promptly ignored him, and continued, “I knew that guy for all of, what? Five minutes? And I like him  _ way _ better than I’ve ever liked you.”

Tooru rolled his eyes.

But Dom was an anomaly, someone who not only  _ didn’t _ get offended or embarrassed by Takahiro’s jokes, but someone who was also able to give it right back. The pair volleyed words as though it’d been ingrained in their lives in the early years. A practice they’d mastered long before meeting the previous evening. Not to mention the heat that had coiled low in his gut when Dom had stopped being surprised enough to kiss Takahiro back at the bar.

Takahiro rather enjoyed that sharp wit paired with the rich, deep timbre of his voice and those dark hooded eyes. Dom’s apathy was perhaps both the hottest thing about him and the most intriguing. He was nothing like Takahiro had assumed when he’d initially met the sputtering mess.

Takahiro kind of maybe really liked that he’d had that sort of effect on Dom.

But how could he put all of that into normal words that wouldn’t make him sound like a blubbering idiot in front of someone who’d never let him forget it for as long as they both lived? Which wouldn’t be long because Takahiro would rather swan dive from the roof of his apartment building than admit to feeling so strongly for a person he’d known less than twenty-four hours.

“Okay, but seriously. Last night was the best night I’ve had in awhile. I felt… free.” He knew Tooru caught the implication in his tone. Takahiro didn’t need to explain himself when Tooru knew everything there was to know, ugly bits and all.

The heaviness of his admission sunk into Takahiro’s chest, pressing tighter and tighter as Tooru pieced his thoughts into words. Tooru sighed softly, leaning back in his seat to retrain his eyes on the restaurant while Takahiro bore witness to the gears turning behind his eyelids.

“You should see him again,” Tooru said after a few moments passed between them, surprising Takahiro enough to make him flinch. “I wish I could give you some solid advice, but of course this is the one subject I have no previous context with. I’m completely clueless.” He chuckled lightly to cover the flash of emotion warring his gaze. “I just… in all the time that I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you smile so genuinely a handful of times. I think it’s important, probably more so than in our line of work that we chase our happiness when we can get our hands on it, no matter how fleeting.”

For a moment Takahiro’s chest was so full of something like adoration, a blissful feeling sweeping through his chest at Tooru’s words of clarity. He reeled it in, clutching it tightly in his calloused hands to keep all for himself, though he was sure Tooru read every passing emotion and would surely comment if Takahiro didn’t explain himself.

But because feelings were gross and his emotional growth was stunted early in life, he instead said, “Plus his dick was absolutely  _ massive _ .”

Tooru screeched a high pitched whine, swatting at Takahiro’s shoulder with faux effort behind each smack. He snickered into his palm, thankful Tooru would occasionally let himself be deterred when Takahiro was feeling especially uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading to.

“Woah,” Tooru blurted, effectively ending the moment and lifting the weight from Takahiro’s chest. “He’s on the move.”

Takahiro whipped his gaze back to the restaurant to find their target exiting the building, suit jacket draped over his free arm while the other was locked with the figure next to him.

“Holy shit,” Takahiro gasped, eyes widening as he took in the pair. “That guy is way too young to be his dad.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Tooru interjected, tone mocking while his face remained locked in fierce bewilderment as they watched the two amble down the sidewalk. It was clear the pair was romantically involved with the way their target’s date lit up anytime the other spoke, their hands entwined.

And then Tooru was hissing some of Takahiro’s favorite words to ever grace his lips.

“Looks like you were right,” Tooru seethed as though the words physically vexed him. “He’s definitely on a date.”

Takahiro grinned, saving Tooru the humiliation of an actual response.

—x—

_ “Wow,” Takahiro panted, throwing an arm over his eyes.  _

_ “That was…” Dom began before trailing off in a loss for words.  _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Like really…” _

_ “Definitely,” Takahiro agreed, their labored breathing the only sound interrupting the ensuing silence. _

_ The sex was brilliant. Dom kicked it off slowly, their lazy kisses rolling into desperate groping until Dom was well versed in every inch of Takahiro’s skin. Their lips were swollen and bruised with the evidence of their contact, neither easing up even when their lungs burned for a breath of fresh air. _

_ Takahiro would be lying if he said it wasn’t the best sex of his life, but he was perfectly content in not revealing that tidbit of information, opting to watch the rise and fall of Dom’s chest instead.  _

_ “See something you like?” Dom goaded. Takahiro hadn’t realized he’d been staring until the words were in the air between them.  _

_ “You wish, loser.” _

_ Dom rolled his eyes before turning and hooking a leg over Takahiro’s thigh. The open-mouthed kisses Dom rained down his nape surfaced chills down Takahiro’s skin, blissful in a way he wasn’t totally prepared for.  _

_ Takahiro didn’t know what made him more nauseous, the fact that they were spooning or that he didn’t totally hate it.  _

_ “Noooo! ‘m too tired to go again,” Takahiro whined in direct opposition to the way he arched to offer Dom more of his neck. “Put your boner away, you freak.” _

_ “Calm down, you overgrown child,” Dom chortled, wrapping his arm across Takahiro’s chest before pulling him back into his own. “I’m not trying to fuck you, I’m trying to hold you.” _

_ Takahiro may have mocked him for the softness of it if he’d had the energy, but Dom was warm and large enough that all his thoughts sputtered out until all that remained were the soothing circles Dom’s thumbs were running over his skin. _

_ Takahiro couldn’t remember the exact moment he fell asleep. _

__

_ —x— _

Takahiro had spent the better part of his day wishing he was back home beneath the safety of his covers but now that he was actually home, the silence felt a little suffocating.

He’d tried blaring some music over the surround sound while online shopping. Two tasks that typically always succeeded in keeping the glaring emptiness at bay. The day, however, seemed fit to ruin any chance of Takahiro’s happiness.

Takahiro enjoyed a rather spectacular day in which everything had gone surprisingly perfect the day before. It was only fair that today be the exact opposite, the day greeting him in empty bed sheets and restless emotions. 

He hoped whatever wretched higher deity currently controlling his life was pleased with themselves, because Takahiro sure as hell was  _ not _ . 

Takahiro was considering the schematics of fitting a trampoline in his apartment when his phone vibrated on the nightstand, alerting him of a text message from Kuroo. Takahiro had never been more thankful for that typical notification on his phone.

_ Hey, listen. I’m sorry for earlier if I went too far.  _

Takahiro took the olive branch for what it was. Kuroo had endured more than his fair share of petty rebuffs at Takahiro’s hands. It was just their way of communicating, finding the fine line between friendship and poking fun at someone’s expense. He really hadn’t given his conversation with Kuroo a second passing thought after it had happened. 

But to be on par with Takahiro’s never-ending quest to become the world’s most annoying human being, he instead replied:

**did mori tell u 2 txt me**

_ I don’t see how that’s relevant _

**lol**

While Kuroo was surprisingly one of the more astute of their lot when it came to reading a room, the problem was he oftentimes didn’t care that the room was screaming at him to just stay out of it. His phone buzzed again, saving him from figuring out what to say to keep the conversation going. 

Takahiro wilted, wallowing in self-pity with the realization of how pathetic his desperation was quickly becoming.

_ Anyways, I actually do owe you an apology.  _

_ You lost your virginity and I didn’t even take it seriously.  _

_ I’m really sorry about that, bud. _

**omg ur the fking worst**

**i hate u**

While Takahiro was no virgin, he knew Kuroo was merely contesting the fact of how long it’d been since Takahiro had sought out any sort of physical pleasure. Just as Takahiro was prepared to launch his phone across the room, it vibrated in his hands.

_ So do you like him? _

**ohh i am so not having this convo w u prick**

_ Yikes. Who shit in your bed? _

At this Takahiro could feel his rage surfacing again. Perhaps bruising his fists on Kuroo’s face  _ outside _ of work wasn’t such a bad idea. 

**im not going to deign tht idiotic question w a response**

_ I’ll tell Yakkun to tone it down next time, he can be a little aggressive _

_ You’ll have to excuse him _

_ He has a surplus in rage and not enough height to contain it properly _

**im gonna tell him u said tht**

_ You wouldn’t dare… _

Nobody feared a feral Morisuke more than Kuroo, especially when said anger was in direct correlation to something he’d said or done. Takahiro took a quick screenshot, saving the evidence for a more lucrative occasion before responding. 

**im not rly in the mood to play**

**ur making my headache come bak**

_ Still no word from loverboy, then, huh? _

**nope**

Fuck. What did it say about Takahiro that he was vulnerable enough to admit that much? With one word he simultaneously confirmed all of Kuroo’s accusations while also feeding him fodder for the entire foreseeable future. 

The response that came was surprising, to say the least.

_ Well if you two got on as well as Tooru thinks you did, why not ask yourself what you would do if you were in Dom’s shoes? _

Takahiro locked his phone screen after reading the message a second time, staring at his ceiling as Kuroo’s text ran on a loop inside his head. 

If they shared so much chemistry, that had to mean they might do something similar in a given situation, right? There might actually be some basis in Kuroo’s suggestion, though Takahiro would die refusing to admit it. 

Still…

What would Takahiro do if he were faced with the dilemma of sneaking out in the dead of night but not totally willing to let go? What if he’d been in Dom’s position and forced to make a split-second decision in the middle of a quick getaway?

_ And why did he even leave at all? _

The thought came unbidden. He’d actually been intently avoiding that very question since he first woke up, but left to his own devices and Takahiro would surely find a way to hurt himself. 

Takahiro sighed, picking up his phone again before pulling up his contacts. 

He’d either manage to get back into contact with Dom or he’d never see the guy again. 

Either way, Takahiro would figure it out and move on with his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry nothing super interesting happened, but there’s a lot of crumbs if you squint the right way. Next chapter is a banger though and will set up a lot of shit to come. I’ll try to work on it and get it posted ASAP but the part of my brain where words come from is totally fried atm. I’m gonna take a few days off from writing but will be responding to comments. 
> 
> [Twitter](%E2%80%9C)  
> [Playlist](%E2%80%9C)  
> [Ask me some stuff](%E2%80%9C)


	3. Talk Too Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, there are four whole POVs in this chapter. Zero to one hundred, real quick baby. Lets gooo.

Talk too much - Coin

_ You read my mind _

_ Better to leave it unsaid _

_ Why can’t I leave it unsaid? _

_ You know I talk too much _

_ Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up _

_ We could blame it all on human nature _

_ Stay cool, it's just a kiss _

_ \--x-- _

_ whats up eyebrows _

_ if that is ur real name… _

  
  


Issei stared blankly at the text message thread on his phone.

Okay, so his one night stand with a stranger had been interesting, to say the least. They’d gotten along eerily well at the bar, an easy rapport they fell into as if it were something they’d been doing long before crossing paths that evening.

There’d been brief moments throughout their walk back to his apartment where Takahiro had softly cracked a joke or brushed against Issei’s shoulder in a way that made his insides swell with some foreign emotion. He found himself rubbing at his chest to ease the mounting tension, confusion warring with the unnamable. When they’d finally gotten back to Takahiro’s place, the silence between them as they ate their food had been weighted, though not uncomfortable, only… expectant.

Issei was almost positive he’d delivered on that front well enough, though.

The heat between them was tangible, a living breathing thing that had raked its claws over Issei’s skin, even now. The sex was mind-blowing enough that it made even a regularly unfazed Issei a little too hot all over any time he thought about it.

Which was a lot. At least more than he felt comfortable admitting.

Their chemistry had extended past their own brand of banter, delving into something deeper than the surface level he was prepared for.

Issei had passed out in bed with him, post-sex cuddle, limbs tangled, the whole nine yards. He’d spent the last few days silently chiding himself as well as commemorating the fact.

When Issei had woken up in the middle of the night, alarmed at the unfamiliar ceiling above him and a weight on his chest, he knew he had to make an exit before Takahiro could ask him any real questions now that they’d settled the sexual tension in the room. He made a silent promise to himself that he would actively try to provoke Hajime less if he could only escape without waking Takahiro. Luckily for Issei, the man was a heavy sleeper, though maybe it had more to do with the drinks they’d shared between them than anything else.

Issei quickly dressed, throwing his shirt over his head before catching sight of Takahiro’s phone on the floor next to his jeans. He shouldn’t have thought twice about it. Shouldn’t have seen the glint and considered it an invitation, and yet something in him gave pause anyways.

He’d stupidly put his number in Takahiro’s contacts. And even more idiotically under his real name. On purpose.

How dumb.

  
  


**Get Rekt**

  
  


Was Issei’s only response.

How vapid.

He was certainly on a roll today.

  
  


_ howd u put ur number in my phone anyway? _

_ it has a password for a reason, u no _

_ to ward off crazy stalkers like u _

  
  


Issei couldn’t contain his grin.

  
  


**Oh that was easy**

**You have face recognition**

**You’re an awfully heavy sleeper ;)**

  
  


A winky face? Issei missed his completely apathetic neutrality. When did he get so uncouth? Would he ever recover in the presence of this man?

  
  


_ ew quit flirting w me, u psycho _

_ whas w all the names? _

_ i had to look thru my contacts liek 3 times before i actually put together this was u _

  
  


He probably should have seen that question coming, but Issei had already come to terms with the fact he was not using his brain to its fullest potential today.

  
  


**Eh, I give out fake names to dudes at bars in case they end up being crazy perverts or something**

  
  


The practiced lie came easy. Takahiro’s response was almost instantaneous.

  
  


_ i am both crazy nd a perv _

_ continue pls _

  
  


Issei barked out a laugh as he began typing out his reply.

“What's so funny?” Hajime asked, startling Issei. It was completely beyond him how Hajime could have possibly gotten all the way to Issei’s desk at the back of the office without him noticing.

“Oh, just stacking up on memes to annoy you with throughout the day, reading onion articles. You know, the usual,” Issei feigned, locking his phone screen and placing it in his desk drawer.

“Mhmm.” With his arms crossed over his chest, Hajime was thoroughly unamused and totally unconvinced, but not concerned enough to press the issue any further. “We have a mission today. Gear up, we’re out of here within the hour.”

Issei supposed Takahiro would have to wait.

\--x--

Takahiro had been left on read for 2 hours now.

He  _ hated _ it.

Was so furious that he was still staring down at his phone even as they were pulling up to the location of their next job. Undercover was Tooru’s specialty, while stealth fell to Takahiro, but they almost always went on missions together.

Both a blessing and a curse.

Tooru was in the midst of his mental preparations, staring out the window absently, letting his brain power down until nothing but the task at hand loomed. Like clockwork, every few minutes Takahiro could feel Tooru’s eyes slide to him. He couldn’t imagine why Tooru would be staring so intently without commenting but Takahiro wasn’t in the mood for volunteering, and so the van remained mercifully quiet.

Though it did nothing in the way of distracting Takahiro from the open messaging thread on his phone.

**_Read_ ** _ 9:38 AM _

It may as well have been laughing at him. The longer he looked at it, the bolder the print became. Takahiro sighed.

Who even kept their read receipts on? What a fucking loser.

It’d taken him long enough to summon the courage to send that first text. Who knew if the contact named Issei in his phone was actually Dom or if he was just some random acquaintance he’d met at one point or another? Not to mention the amount of time he’d spent deliberating on  _ what _ to text Issei.

Still, he’d put himself out there and it was annoying that it was going to waste.

Fucking loser.

“I’m sure he’s working too, Takahiro. We aren’t all lucky enough to have jobs that allow so much freedom,” Oikawa reassured, breaking the peaceful silence.

Gross. Oikawa was paying attention to him. Takahiro shouldn’t have been surprised. His attention to detail was what landed him at this level of espionage in the first place.

Clever, conniving, and sometimes cruel, Tooru Oikawa was several deadly combinations wrapped up in one enigma of a man. Many underestimated the sharp intelligence under the disarming smile, but Takahiro knew Tooru’s real value was his mind. The way he carefully calculated every possible scenario before entering a room, the mask he slid in place when necessary, the weaknesses of others he discovered and then exploited.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Takahiro denied, avoiding eye contact.

“Of course. Silly me! There must be some other reason you’ve been sighing and staring at your phone the whole ride.”

“It’s because your ego is taking up all the breathing room in this van.” Takahiro scrunched his nose as though he smelled something particularly pungent.

“Two minute warning,” Kuroo announced from his position behind the wheel, thankfully halting  _ that _ conversation before it could really catch wind.

Tooru clicked his tongue, dissatisfied with Takahiro’s response but lacking the appropriate time to challenge him on it.

Perhaps today would be a good day, after all.

\--x--

“Who the fuck wears sweats to a stealth mission?” Hajime griped as they slowly but surely made their way through the ventilation system.

“I mean… they’re black.” Issei shrugged, or at least as much as he could with how restricted he was in the tight block of aluminum. Issei hardly had the space to accommodate his width, any extra movement was nearly impossible. He wondered how Hajime was faring when his arms rivaled the circumference of tree trunks. “Plus, my pockets fit all my stuff so I don’t have to wear a flashy toolbelt.”

Hajime grumbled a few choice words under his breath before exhaling harshly. Issei knew a dismissal when he saw one but it didn’t goad him on the way it usually did.

Issei had other things to focus on. Getting the transactions list from the district manager’s office before anyone noticed two extra operatives running around the facility was something Issei was fairly confident he and Hajime could achieve.

The district manager was a dumbass, after all.

Issei wasn’t one to really concern himself with specifics of a mission, often finding it tedious when all he really wanted to know was what needed to be accomplished in order to clear it and move on to the next one. Surprisingly, his carelessness came with a high success rate. There was a reason Issei was dubbed top spy of their agency, a reason he was always chosen for missions when he was available, clandestine operations, hit jobs, or otherwise.

Issei was a jack of all trades with a smart mouth and a blithe attitude; he didn’t have the time or attention span to worry over petty details.

It became a little more personal, though, when this particular list directly involved Issei’s entire agency.

The idiot managing the Gama Corp branch had skimmed a little too much off the top, effectively tripling his typical, already outrageous salary. Now, normally, his agency wouldn’t give a rat’s ass what any of these silly corporations were doing when no one was looking, but he’d used Issei’s team to steal the necessary account information to acquire such a surplus in funds. He’d gotten caught less than a year after the fact.

What an amateur.

Especially since it had taken Tendou and the rest of the technical team approximately four hours to uncover that the bastard had kept a  _ written _ log of his transaction. Their agency was more than likely in his books and it was too much of a hazard for them to gamble on the possibility that they weren’t. After further research, they’d discovered the manager’s office was left conveniently unguarded for his lunch hour.

Really, how dumb could one person be?

He assumed Hajime might have something to say about Issei of all people making that statement, but  _ very  _ luckily for everyone, Hajime was not a mind reader.

Issei was especially thankful, as none of this was actually bearing any weight on his mind. He wasn’t considering the mission at all, favoring thoughts laced with images of Takahiro stretched out in front of him, lithe and wanton, a purr caught in his throat at Issei’s ministrations. He couldn’t help his mind from wandering to the goosebumps that prickled Takahiro’s warm expanse of skin as Issei ran lazy trails with his fingers over his sides.

Hajime might actually kill him if he knew that he was trading exit strategies and what to do if a piece of their plan went to shit for musings on what moves he would have to make to get Takahiro back within groping distance.

“If our blueprints are correct, the office we’re looking for should be the next duct up,” Hajime announced, pausing their slow crawl through the vents over top of a cover slotted enough to plainly see the red carpet on the floor below them.

Huh.

So it was time to actually do something.

Issei was sure it would be fine. Steal the paper. Get the hell out of there.

Simple enough.

“I’m going to drop here. I’ll give you the all-clear when I know it’s safe,” Hajime continued when Issei didn’t respond.

“Parting is such sweet joy,” Issei proclaimed, blabbering to cover how out of sorts he truly was. “I’d hug you if we weren’t trapped in this tin can. Don’t miss me too much, big guy.”

“It’s  _ sorrow _ , dumbass. I would rather blow this whole mission knocking your teeth out than hug you right now,” Hajime retorted. Issei breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Hajime was angry enough to be deterred from his current mental state.

Continuing with the charade anyhow, Issei reached out as though he could actually defy the laws of physics and wrap his arms around Hajime’s middle.

“Stop being dumb.” Hajime palmed Issei’s face, forcing him back a few inches and shooting him a glare that left no room for arguments. “We have work to do.”

“So mean.” Issei pouted. “Just let me love you.”

Hajime’s brows furrowed, a question forming in his mind that Issei wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. The gravity of it weighed heavier as the silence lingered. Issei would have moved right along to his designated waiting position if Hajime wasn’t directly blocking his path.

Stupid air ducts.

In a useless attempt to distract them both, Issei pulled a screwdriver from his pocket, getting to work on the screws attaching the vent cover separating them from the vacant floor below. He had one free and the second one started by the time Hajime’s reply came.

“When did you become so whiny?” The question was innocent enough, but Issei knew Hajime well enough to see the suspicion lurking on his features. Issei felt the phantom sheen of sweat forming at his nape.

“Maybe my new friends are rubbing off on me,” Issei blurted in a moment of panic.

Oh, man. Issei’s brain was on a roll today. His texts earlier and now this?

Issei wasn’t always this dumb. He really,  _ truly _ planned to  _ eventually _ tell Hajime about his evening at the bar with Takahiro and Tooru, he just hadn’t banked on doing it this soon or explaining it in the middle of an important mission, suspended in a tight space.

“New friends?” Hajime questioned, wasting no time at all. Issei busied himself with the fourth screw, avoiding the confusion and rage he would surely find in Hajime’s eyes. “You don’t have time for friends.”

“I do all kinds of things you don’t know about, Hajime.” Hiding his trepidation behind a wink, Issei grinned before finally extracting the last screw.

Hajime scowled when Issei pressed his fingers to his lips, motioning below at the open air duct and how easily they would be noticed if they were to continue talking.

“We’re talking about this later,” Hajime whispered, but the threat in his tone was evident enough. Issei was violently aware that he’d have to explain sooner or later, but at least this bought him a little bit of time before Hajime could pry the answers from his lips. Probably very literally.

“Sure thing, dad,” Issei replied flatly.

The last thing Issei saw before Hajime dropped to the vacant floor below was his middle finger pointed in Issei’s direction.

—x—

Tooru was going to kill Takahiro if he didn’t figure his shit out soon.

The poor bastard was drowning endlessly in the what-ifs and newfound feelings he wouldn’t admit to himself that Tooru couldn’t bring himself to envy. In fact, it was one of the many reasons he stayed as far away from that sort of thing as possible. Tooru was a disaster on a good day, one snide remark or jest at the wrong time and he was liable to reign down the force of a very bitter afternoon. Adding any frivolous feelings to the mix was just asking for trouble in epic proportions.

Still, the petulant whining and snarky attitude were very rapidly turning Takahiro more prickly than even Morisuke. There was only so much room to spare when it came to drama around the office, as the majority of them held a large affinity for it as things were. When one of them snapped, the rest tended to collapse like dominos until Kuroo was the only one left standing, grinning condescendingly over the fallen.

Bastard.

Tooru really needed to find a new agency.

Or at least some better friends.

As things were, Tooru was left patrolling the perimeter, making sure no one interrupted Takahiro as he rummaged for the key to their mission. The gaudy beige curtains lining the windows clashed harshly with the royal blue walls, the crown molding crumbling slightly around a few edges. Tooru refused to even comment on the richly colored carpet below his feet. Hideous. Too many dominant colors competing with one another, heavy in a way they shouldn’t be. No wonder this company was going under if their interior decorator was any indication of the way it was run.

Typically, Tooru trusted his team infinitely. Yes, they had their squabbles, and yes, he’d rather chew his own arm off than listen to Kuroo and Morisuke go at it for too long, but he knew they could pull it together when it really counted. Still, Tooru couldn’t help but worry when Takahiro’s mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his new boyfriend, but there was little he could do about it now without blowing the mission entirely.

As Tooru sighed, he considered the merits of taking a vacation; vegging out on his bed and staring at nothing was beginning to sound vastly more appealing than dealing with these idiots. Rounding the same corner yet again was a test in patience, resonating with the monotony of his daily life. He’d need to diverge from his path soon, lest the security guards watching the cameras catch him wearing a hole in their stupid, ugly carpets and find it suspicious.

Tooru whipped his head to attention as he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps coming close, silently cursing himself for not paying close enough attention. His reaction was too little, too late as his body collided with the stranger. His ass stung as he hit the ground and the yelp that was expelled into the air was not his own but clearly masculine, as was the string of profanity that followed it.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” the stranger muttered. Tooru’s mind was too busy calculating the best way to escape the situation to bother meeting his words with some of his own. Broad chest expanding, Tooru inhaled a quick breath, releasing his entire persona and forming a new one on the exhale.

Showtime.

His mask was fully in place by the time he met the strangers piercing green gaze, but he was utterly unprepared for what he found lying in the depths. He vaguely registered the man’s arm extended between them in a silent offer but it was all he could manage to not consider the sunkissed planes of his skin and the stunning, crystal green of his irises. Stupid, really, considering Tooru’s complete lack of interest in those sorts of things, but the man was handsome, outrageously so and Tooru felt compelled to let his stare linger.

The man cleared his throat into a fist, clearing a fog from his own eyes that Tooru only noticed upon its absence. Finally, Tooru took his proffered hand and was pulled to his feet, stumbling slightly in the stranger’s space.

Tooru chuckled lightly, one hand on his hip and the other scratching at his nape.

“Sorry, you look familiar,” Tooru said by way of explanation for his strange behavior. Not a lie, but not entirely a truth either. While the man  _ did _ look familiar, Tooru was almost certain he was just another face in the file full of employees he’d stayed up late into the night to study.

With their hands still linked, Tooru straightened to his full height and it was only then that he realized he had a few inches on the man. Amazing what you can discover when you weren't sitting on the disgusting carpet and gaping shamelessly at someone

A coldness swept across Tooru’s skin in place of the man’s hand as it fell to the wayside. He idly wondered if the breath expelled from his lips was one of relief, judging by the way the man’s eyes briefly slid shut. Or maybe he was just nervous. Even still, what cause would someone have for nerves when they weren’t doing anything more sinister than accidentally bumping into someone.

It was suspicious. Tooru felt an understanding curl deep in his gut and had to stifle it from reflecting on his face. He, of course, would need to give the mysterious person the benefit of the doubt to avoid any misgivings directed his way, but he couldn’t quash the inkling outright.

“I get that a lot.” The man’s smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that had Tooru second-guessing his initial assessment. It didn’t mean he would let his guard down.

Never that.

“Oh, really?” Tooru challenged.

“Yeah, must just be my plain face.”

Plain face?

Where?

Now Tooru  _ knew _ he was lying. He reigned in his scoff at the comment in favor of furthering their conversation.

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Tooru began, playful eyes alighted with mischief. He felt the flirty persona take him over, let it rise and fall in his chest until the charade was all that he knew. This was the role he was meant to play. Distraction and novelty. “I think you ran into me on purpose.”

Tooru marveled at the light blush blooming across the harsh plains of the man’s face as Tooru took a step closer. Crushing green eyes dragged over Tooru, piercing enough that it made him squirm.

Perhaps this diversion would work in Tooru’s favor, after all.

“I think you took one look at this handsome face and couldn’t help but collide with me.” Tooru’s voice was midnight smoothness.

“Is that so?” he asked, quirking a brow at Tooru’s brazenness.

“Maybe not consciously, but the heart wants what it wants,” Tooru teased with a shrug. A strange sort of rush surged through Tooru’s veins as he took a step towards the man, splaying a hand on his chest. The whimper that almost escaped Tooru’s lips when the defined lines of corded muscles met his palm was  _ definitely _ all a part of the act.

“A little arrogant, aren’t we?” the man challenged without any heat behind it. At least, not the angry kind of fire that sometimes happened when Tooru pushed boundaries further than they were willing to expand.

“Can you blame me?” He smirked but there was something on the man’s face that jogged a piece loose in his brain, a siren booming in the back of his mind in warning.

Tooru was sure he would remember a face like that, even in a lineup of hundreds? So if he wasn’t an employee, then…

“What’s your name?” the stranger asked gently, breath fanning over the other’s face. Tooru’s fingertips brushed the collarbones through the fabric of his black sweater, stretched tight to fit his frame.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Tooru goaded, a secret smile playing at his lips. 

Yes, he would get to the bottom of where he knew this man from, why he was lingering in his mind as though he were someone important, but he could certainly toy with him just a little bit longer.

\--x--

“Fuck,” Issei cursed, checking the watch on his arm for the umpteenth time.

Issei began to panic about fifteen minutes in when he still hadn’t received his all-clear from Hajime. It wasn’t like him to wait so long without communicating a reason behind it, which could only mean something was keeping him busy enough that he wasn’t physically able to reach out to him. It was with a sinking feeling that Issei realized this mission may be a touch more complicated than they’d originally anticipated.

Still, there were only forty minutes left of the manager’s lunch break and  _ something _ had to give. Hajime would surely kill him for the impatience, especially if it meant blowing their cover in any way, but it was absolutely necessary they get their hands on that list and take it far, far away from any investigations and it needed to be done today. Waiting longer meant taking the gamble that the police wouldn’t have this man in handcuffs and all his documents locked safely within their official confines before they had another chance to steal it.

It was now or never.

Good thing Issei never carried any guilt over a brash decision.

Without contemplating any further, Issei tugged on the vent cover until it gave, screws already removed, before gently setting it aside. He was absolutely certain the room was empty by the utter lack of any movement below. He would undoubtedly have noticed if someone was lurking beneath by now.

Unconcerned, Issei dropped his weight to the floor below, a dull thud sounding through the room as his feet met the carpet. The unassuming office was fairly plain for that of someone in charge, but Issei supposed if he was making as much money as the manager conning his own company, he wouldn’t worry about specifics either. The ostentatious carpet from Hajime’s stop carried over into the office, but it was at least mostly covered by large area rugs. It was the light alder paneling that really made Issei want to hurl, but  _ noooo _ , leaving DNA trace evidence behind was highly frowned upon in their line of work.

After taking a quick scope of the room and being satisfied that he was truly alone, Issei made his way to the desk tucked into the corner.

Issei really hoped this man didn’t actually hold business here and expect to be taken seriously. Anyone in a position of power that was worth a damn had their desk in the center of the room, their back to a wall of windows where they would never be taken unawares. Then again, he would be in jail later this week, so none of that really mattered that much.

As Issei sat behind the desk and began rummaging through the drawer’s contents, careful not to disturb anything that wasn’t of interest, he remembered Hajime’s holdup and wondered how it might impact their escape. Hopefully, they could make it out of here without making any ripples.

“Issei?”

Well, fuck.

Issei froze. His hand was reached far enough into the drawer that there’d be no denying his snooping or ill intent. Somewhere in his mind, Issei registered that the voice was vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t Hajime’s so he discarded the thought as quickly as it came. 

It’d been a long time yet since Issei had been caught doing anything, the jolt of surprise coursing through his body a testament to his unpreparedness.

It took him a moment to gather the confidence required for facing the intruder but when he finally did, a familiar face loomed in his vision.

Issei rubbed his eyes. Blinked them twice. Pinched himself.

Because there was no fucking way Takahiro was standing in front of him. This had to be some kind of joke, right?

_ Right?! _

“Umh...” Issei visibly swallowed, the sound reverberating in his eardrums, fighting for power over his racing heart. “Are you stalking me? Because like... I can explain.”

There was a heavy beat of silence as Takahiro observed him dubiously, his mouth pinched in a tight line. Issei used the brief pause in an attempt to slow his heartbeat while keeping Takahiro none the wiser to his struggle.

“You think I’m stalking you and you’re worried about how  _ I’m  _ perceiving you?” Takahiro asked skeptically, finally opening the line of communication between them.

“I guess?” Issei sputtered out.

Oh, good. At least he didn’t sound like a  _ fucking idiot _ .

What in the actual fuck? What reason could Takahiro possibly have for being here? 

Oh, god. He didn’t work here, did he?

Takahiro saved Issei from having to muster a response, which was really lucky because Issei’s brain needed a second to reboot, the swarm of questions swirling endlessly. “What’re you doing here?” Takahiro hissed and Issei didn’t miss the quick sweep of his narrowed eyes, the appraisal and heat that lined them. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if Takahiro wanted to kiss him or throttle him. Maybe some kinky combination of the two if Issei was lucky.

He really needed to stop getting ahead of himself.

“Would you believe me if I said I was working?” Issei chuckled airily. He supposed he’d be in for some serious shit if Takahiro did in fact work at the company, though at least he was being somewhat truthful. The best kind of lies had some truth folded in.

“Yeah, right. As if any respectable person would let you in dressed like that.” Takahiro rolled his eyes.

“Always a critic.” Issei clicked his tongue. “I’ll have you know sweatpants are the cornerstone of our economy. Everyone has a pair, name someone who doesn't,” Issei demanded, barreling on without giving Takahiro a chance to respond. “That’s right! You can’t!”

“Are you single-handedly keeping us all afloat, then?” Takahiro’s derisive tone was playful enough that Issei knew the worst of the moment was behind them, slowly edging back into comfortable territory and thawing the last of Takahiro’s contempt. “Something tells me that someone willing to wear casual clothing to such a fine establishment probably owns a closet full.”

“Is this just a ploy to get me to invite you back to my place to see for yourself? Because… well, that can totally be arranged.” Issei’s tone was smug, a mask to the relief currently washing over him.

“Why would I want to see a sweatpants collection when I could do  _ literally  _ anything else?” Takahiro smirked, gloriously bored, and infinitely amused.

“Awfully presumptuous of you to assume I don’t own any other clothing when you’ve literally seen me in jeans before.”

“Yeah, what’s that about? Fooling me into thinking you’re a well-dressed man and then BAM! You hit me with the sweats, and while you’re presumedly working, at that. Awfully unprofessional of you, Issei.”

Well, fuck. Issei was woefully unequipped to deal with the heat that curled low in his gut with his name rolling off of Takahiro’s tongue. He rather wished they could forgo dealing with their strange and coincidental encounter, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between them and press Takahiro to the wall with the force of his kiss. The need for it frayed his self-control, raging in his blood until his brain was fried and totally useless.

“Listen here, you little shit,” Issei began with a grin until the unmistakable sound of a key sliding into a lock echoed in the room around them.

It was strange, really. How Takahiro and Issei moved in unison, shoulders pressed together in front of the towering wall of windows. Even stranger still, was when Takahiro locked eyes with him before flicking them to the opposite corner, and Issei knew exactly what he was trying to communicate. Hidden off to the side, blending in with gawky paneling of the room, was a closet that Issei hadn’t noticed when he’d first touch foot in the office. Upon further inspection, Issei wondered how he’d missed it.

Golden hinges jutted out from one side of the clear cut lines, giving way to the room behind it. Come to think of it, the closet was probably where Takahiro had been hiding when Issei was busy in search for the transactions list.

Huh. He really was out of sorts today, wasn’t he?

Issei could only hope whoever was now entering the office wouldn’t need anything from the closet, though he hadn’t really the slightest idea what lurked behind the door. It could all be a set-up, which would make perfect sense with Hajime being out of the equation so early on, but Issei didn’t have the luxury of options at the moment and so, Takahiro clicked the door open slightly before slipping inside. Without even a glance over his shoulder, Issei followed, pulling the door along with his momentum.

“Don’t shut it all the way,” Takahiro whispered harshly, eyes stretched wide in dawning panic as he reached his arms out to stop it from closing completely. “It will… lock.”

There were worse things, Issei considered, than being stuck in the closet with Takahiro, feisty and now somewhat mysterious.

Issei thanked whatever higher deity was listening that the room was pitch black and Takahiro couldn’t possibly witness the grin plastered across his face.

\--x--

There was the awkward tension of running into a one night stand in public for the first time after the fact, and then there was… well, this. And yet somehow, Takahiro’s initial perplexity at the situation morphed into their usual antics, the same ratatat they’d fallen into that had caught his interest in the first place.

Takahiro hadn’t minded setting things aside for the sake of the setting, but he wasn’t sure how he felt being confined to such a small area with Issei. At least back out in the office it was easy to maintain a distance between them, but now, Takahiro could hear his every breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin, and he wasn’t sure he had the ability to deny the temptation that the darkness had brought on. 

“So,” Issei began in a whisper, pulling a flashlight out of god knows where and turning away from the door to face Takahiro before crossing his arms over his chest. “Come here often?”

Dumb. Idiot. Loser.

This had to be some dumb fever dream or something. Takahiro was mentally there, but his poor decrepit body was wasting away beneath too many hospital sheets somewhere far from this moment.

Yeah, that had to be it.

Takahiro was aware that continuing this conversation in hushed tones still offered the risk of being caught, but he was brimming with unanswered questions and only a handful of them had anything to do with this incredibly strange day.

Still, he listened for any sounds echoing within the office on the other side of the before continuing and found nothing amiss.

“Hmm. Can’t say that I do, Issei,” Takahiro responded, looking at his nails with a clinical expression.

The room was silent again, Issei’s impatience made evident in his lack of ability to keep still. Takahiro watched his broad back as Issei rummaged around the room, careful to not point his flashlight towards the door’s vicinity.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Takahiro knew the question was loaded but he hoped Issei would answer it anyways. There was a high chance they were here for the same thing given Issei’s search areas had been an exact match to his own, but if that were true, then there was a lot more they had to worry about other than whoever had almost caught them in the office.

“A true gentleman never reveals his secrets,” Issei retorted, rising to his full height when his search turned fruitless. It was nearly impossible to keep a low profile and find anything in this ridiculous closet. Takahiro should know, he’d been in a similar situation when Issei had surprised him by opening an overhead vent and dropped down in the office. It’d nearly given Takahiro a heart attack, made even worse when he saw exactly who had entered the room with him.

“I know for a fact that you are no gentleman,” Takahiro objected.

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say as Issei was on him without hesitation, in front of Takahiro’s face before he had the time to object as though his words had snapped whatever leash he was holding on himself.

Takahiro had the fleeting thought that Issei had no business looking so self-satisfied and sexy at the same time, his eyes hooded and hair a touch unkempt.

“Do you want me to tell you what I’m looking for or would you rather make out?” Issei asked cunningly, a hand snaking around Takahiro’s back to reach the baby hairs at his nape, the other planted firmly as his hip. “Cause I gotta tell you, I’m definitely leaning a certain way on that one, but I’ll let you decide.”

Takahiro had purposely kept a solid distance between them up until that moment, had stayed as far away from Issei as he could without drawing suspicion for this exact reason. Now, they were close enough to share breath and Takahiro now knew for a fact that he didn’t have the self-control to fight it.

Before Takahiro could think better of it, Issei’s mouth was on him, lush and heavy enough that he could feel his own temperature drastically increasing. The taste of Issei’s tongue was familiar in a way that it shouldn’t be, and god, this was such a bad idea, wasn’t it?

Takahiro would chide himself for not asking a single relevant question before getting lost in this mess, but he couldn’t quite care as his fingers grazed all the hard planes of muscle lining Issei’s body through the fabric of his dry-fit. He marveled at Issei’s moan as he bowed into the touch, amazed that Takahiro could have that kind of effect, though he’d barely done anything, yet.

Issei’s arms wrapped around him, one across his shoulder blades, and the other slipping beneath the back of Takahiro’s shirt. His blood thrummed at the soft, calloused fingertips skimming back and forth along the sensitive skin above the waistline of his pants. Takahiro felt as though he was in very real danger of falling off the edge of the world, tethered only by the points of their body that maintained contact.

There was an urgency between them, one that had little to do with the setting and everything to do with the fact that Takahiro had been waiting for this moment since he woke up alone in his bed after Issei had snuck off in the dead of night.

Wow.

Well, that was certainly the first time he’d admitted that to himself.

But he  _ so _ didn’t care as Issei deepened the kiss, pulling Takahiro in closer and sliding his tongue along the edges of his teeth.

“What an embarrassing trope, being stuck in the closet together,” Issei murmured after finally breaking away, only to press biting kisses down the column of Takahiro’s neck. And god, Takahiro was going to regret letting Issei mark up his neck come later tonight, but for the moment all he could think about was how fucking hot it was.

“If you were so desperate to get me alone, you could have just answered my text,” Takahiro whined, tilting his head back to offer Issei more of his skin.

“And miss this grand gesture?” Issei nuzzled beneath his jawline, his exhale fanning over the dark bruises littering Takahiro’s neck, visible even in the dimly lit closet. “Not a chance.”

“That’s pretty gay, Issei,” Takahiro teased, gripping dark locks between his fingers and pulling slightly at the ends.

“You would know,” Issei said simply in between slow, open-mouthed kisses, not bothering to meet Takahiro’s eyes as he spoke.

“Wow. You are such an asshole,” Takahiro chided, but it came out a little breathless. “And kind of a perv too.”

“Don’t let this charm and handsome face fool you, I’m totally impertinent deep down.” Issei’s laugh skittered along his bones, his smirk along the column of his neck a siren’s call straight to Takahiro’s dick, and fuck, he was incredibly willing to take a plunge in the icy depths as Issei continued his slow torture.

“Hmm, deep down? I think not.” Takahiro grinned when Issei bit down a little harder on the sensitive skin as if in reprimand. “Lucky for you, charm and irreverence happen to be my favorite. Your face is just a bonus.”

Issei pulled back for a moment, studying Takahiro so intently that he fought the urge to shirk from his rousing gaze. This close, Takahiro could see that his eyes were wholly glazed over, no room between them for things like concern or wondering where they stood. All Takahiro could do was relish in the points of contact between their bodies, wishing for more, more,  _ more _ in this stuffy closet.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Issei sighed, thumb stroking from the sensitive skin at the base of his ear to the point of Takahiro’s chin and the almost softness of the touch was such a contrast to his lust soaked thoughts that a whimper escaped between Takahiro’s lips. 

Needy bitch, through and through.

Without another word, Issei sealed his lips over his once more, gripping Takahiro’s thighs and hefting him so that he loomed above Issei for once. Wrapping his legs around Issei’s waist and hooking them at the ankles behind his back, Takahiro melted into the kiss, meeting each slide of his tongue with his own, his barbell clicking softly against teeth. At this angle, he could feel Issei’s hardness pressing into him and he couldn’t help but groan into his mouth.

His heart stumbled a beat as Issei began moving, and Takahiro couldn’t find it within himself to care where he was taking him, he just hoped it involved more groping and fewer clothes. It was all too much, the ache in Takahiro’s core, the deliberately slow drag of Issei’s fingers along his backside, the shiver it summoned down Takahiro’s spine. He would surely go insane, lose his mind completely in the intensity of it.

Issei finally halted, Takahiro’s back hitting something solid, and while it was grounding, it did nothing to interrupt Issei’s devotion. They were nothing more than a clash of tongues and teeth, Takahiro’s soul somewhere else, maybe back in the office and watching as this whole scene played out. Every inch of him burned and tightened, aching for a release that he wasn’t sure would ever come.

When Issei’s mouth slid from his mouth and resumed their work of marking his neck, Takahiro finally cracked his eyes open, only to find himself pressed against the locked closet door. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. They really were crossing off every cliche known to man in the small confines of the closet.

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” Takahiro said, but the effect was ruined with a needy exhale following the statement.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Issei responded, his hands gliding to knead at Takahiro’s ass.

“Ugh. Why are you so obsessed with me?” Takahiro whined, flexing his hips in a way that he knew Issei could feel his hardness.

“Hmm,” Issei considered for a moment. “Yeah, it’s definitely your ass. How can anyone expect me to stay away from you when I know how slappable it is?”

Takahiro opened his mouth to supply some half-witted incoherent response when they both paused at the sound of a knob turning. Takahiro whirled, thankful for Issei’s thick thighs bearing his weight between them as his heart dropped into his stomach, even more grateful when he continued to hold him as the door swung open.

\--x--

“What in the actual fuck?” Hajime bellowed, subconsciously scolding himself for his harsh tone in the middle of an important heist.

In his defense, finding Issei locked in a closet and shoving his tongue down some poor sap’s throat wasn’t something he’d imagine confronting in any mission, let alone what was supposed to be a simple theft. Issei just stared at Hajime with eyes widened in dawning horror.

Good.

Issei should be afraid. Hajime was going to kick his ass once they got the hell out of there.

Still clinging to Issei’s thick frame, even with the absence of the door propping his weight up, the pink-haired man jostled with stifled laughter, face pressed into Issei’s shoulder. Though Hajime couldn’t physically see it, he had a sneaking suspicion that Issei was repressing his own tittering, judging from the absolute glee emanating from him.

Hajime would give him something to fucking laugh about.

This mission was not going to plan at all and Hajime had just about enough of it. First, there was his encounter in the hallway that left him a bit baffled and totally off-kilter. It took him so long to get away from the man that Hajime worried Issei might still be waiting for his cue in the ventilation system, the lunch hour almost completely eaten up by the time he broke away. But finding Issei only led to more questions than answers.

What the fuck was actually happening? The harder Hajime tried to put it together, the more clueless he felt, and if someone didn’t start answering questions soon, Hajime was going to burst. Frustrated with his own inadequacies, he shot Issei a look that could pierce glass, hoping he would catch on to Hajime’s meaning.

“Uhh, I can explain,” Issei offered lamely before remembering himself enough to let the other man glide down his body and separating the moment his feet touched the floor. “Well actually, it’s a long story… Why don’t we talk about it at home?”

Hajime didn’t miss his choice of words, the way he failed in alluding to the base they would actually be returning to. If that were the case, wouldn’t that make this sad schmuck an employee chained to this sinking corporation? Perhaps Issei was using his own methods of distraction to deter the man from the real mission at hand, similarly to Hajime’s earlier predicament.

“ _ Please _ , enlighten me,” Hajime ground out through clenched teeth, unable to quell the questions circling around his head, vultures waiting to strike at any given moment.

Could he trust Issei?

Not really.

Hajime  _ could _ , however, tell when Issei was lying. He had to ask some questions, get to the bottom of some things before he would be willing to leave. No loose ends. Not ever.

“Oh my god,” the stranger interjected. “Is he your boyfriend?!”

Hajime locked eyes with Issei, a silence filling the space between them for a moment before they began roaring with laughter. Issei doubled over, a hand wrapped around his stomach as though his insides threatened to spill, the other wiping a tear away.

“What’s so funny?” the man asked, a crinkle to his nose and a slight tilt to his head that left Hajime on edge despite the humor of his suggestion.

“You think I’m dating  _ him _ ?” Issei croaked, facing the stranger and hooking a thumb over his shoulder in Hajime’s direction. “He’s literally my brother.”

“Not literally,” Hajime quickly clarified, his rage threatening to surface once more, fists clenching at his sides. 

“Yeah, okay, but we’re  _ definitely _ not dating. We’re like the opposite of dating.” Even with his back to Hajime, he could sense the gentle playfulness from the set of his shoulders.

“But wouldn’t that just be not knowing each other at all? Like being total strangers?” Issei’s new spit-swapping partner chimed in, apparently satisfied that he and Issei were not, in fact, dating.

“Hmm.” Issei pressed a finger over his scrunched lips, his eyes trailing above them in a comical show of consideration. “That’s a good point, but I think the opposite of dating would be like, hating someone or something, right?”

Hajime watched them go back and forth, muttering a pointed ‘what the fuck?’ under his breath as the situation continued to grow more ridiculous.

“Well, you must hate this guy, then. If you’re the opposite of dating,” the man supplied.

“Trust me, I absolutely-”

“Enough!” Hajime cut in, pulling both party’s attention to him once more. “This is ridiculous.” They needed to get out of there before they got caught and while Hajime was almost certain they had gone undetected by anyone detrimental, he figured that luck would only extend so far. There was still the matter of the mission at hand, though, so Hajime found himself asking, “Did you find what you were looking for? We’ve got to go, time’s up. The van is waiting for us.”

“About that…” Issei winced, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. “Well, I don’t know if Phoenix got his information wrong or what, but it’s definitely not here.”

“Phoenix hasn’t been wrong about this shit before, and you know it,” Hajime reasoned, impatience lacing his words.

“I don’t know what to tell you, but I looked everywhere. It’s not here,” Issei argued, tone defensive, if not a little frustrated.

While Hajime was mentally calculating the probability of his statement, he noticed Issei’s friend twitch in his peripherals. Such a small but rather telling display, especially as he shifted away from the pair, as though he might blend in with the walls and sneak out undetected.

“Don’t move,” Hajime commanded, pulling a gun from the holster at his hip beneath his sweater and training it on the man in question. A threatening and definitive click sounded through the room as Hajime flipped the safety.

“What the fuck, Haj?” Issei hissed, brows furrowed. “You can’t just threaten to shoot people in broad daylight.”

The stranger's hands were raised, placating if not a bit bored, which only increased Hajime’s suspicions. It wasn't every day that Hajime met someone who didn’t balk in the face of a loaded gun.

“Care to explain?” Hajime questioned the man, declining to muster a response to Issei’s dramatic statement in favor of quelling the rage coursing through his veins. 

“I’d rather not,” he replied, forgoing the ruse and crossing his arms over his chest.

Well, wasn’t that just  _ peachy _ .

“I’m thinking you should,” Hajime fumed.

“I don’t really think you can make me.” The stranger’s shrug grated his already agitated nerves, the smug smirk peeking out from light pink locks was the final straw.

But just as his finger hovered over the trigger, Issei made a move, stepping between them before Hajime could decide the merits of killing the man in cold blood on suspicion alone.

Hajime had borne witness to many stupid moves at the hands of Issei over the years that they’d been friends, but he could say for sure this particular one was his worst to date. 

Why was Issei so worried over the welfare of this man? Or perhaps, the better question was  _ who _ exactly, was this man to Issei? If he was important enough for Issei to be willing to take a bullet for him, then why was Hajime only meeting him now?

While he oftentimes tried to repress his never-ending concern for Issei’s safety, Hajime had long ago accepted his role as Issei’s pseudo-guardian, cleaning up messes when the occasion called for it.

But this was taking things a little too far.

“Move,” Hajime barked, narrowing his eyes in challenge. Issei just shook his head, silently awaiting whatever fate would befall him. Hajime might have found the action endearing if he didn’t know any better, but they both knew Hajime probably wouldn’t shoot if it meant injuring Issei in the process.

Still, Hajime would be lying if he said it wasn’t tempting.

What a fucking mess. 

Hajime couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so blinded by his temper or when he’d last let it best him like this. All he could do was stew in the contemplative quiet, finger itching to make a move one way or another as it hovered between the handle and the trigger. He had to be in some mood to let his irritation show this much in the face of a stranger amidst a failed mission.

“Put it down,” an all too familiar voice demanded suddenly from the open doorway. He whipped his head towards the source so fast he was worried his neck might snap, only to find his worst fears confirmed.

When their eyes met, the air between them crackled, energy so fierce and biting that it was almost tangible. Hajime tried to get his traitorous lungs to draw in enough breath to voice the words crowding the back of his throat, but found himself lacking; too inept as he stared down the man at the threshold, the gun in his hand aimed directly at Hajime’s chest.

“Hello, Iwaizumi,” Tooru purred. There was a manic glint in his eyes that hinted at the falseness of the smile etched to his face. Hajime could feel the contempt lurking beneath his mask, wondering how he’d ever missed it in the first place. A wolf in sheep's clothing.

“Wait a second,” Issei chimed in from his place still between Hajime’s gun and the pink-haired man he was protecting. “Do you two… know each other?” he asked, looking back and forth between the pair, despite the alarming ratio of guns to people in the room.

“Just met, actually,” Tooru affirmed, glancing at the nails of his free hand, bristling with impatience. Hajime almost shivered, noting that the weapon in his hand never wavered, despite his attention being directed elsewhere. “We had a little run-in out in the hallway. Hajime tried to seduce me, but it looks like you all had a bit of better luck.” Hajime’s jaw clenched more with every word out of Tooru’s mouth.

“Nice,” Issei deadpanned. “Now that we all know each other, why don’t we just like… not smear our innard across the walls, yeah?”

“I think I’ll be the judge of who gets to do what,  _ yeah _ ?” Tooru mocked, finally deigning to meet their eyes. And then all at once, Tooru lasered his focus on Hajime, all of the malice he could muster loaded into that one singular moment. “Now, if you don’t mind,  _ Iwa-chan _ , I’ll collect Takahiro, and then we’ll be leaving.”

Hajime supposed Takahiro must be the name of Issei’s new boyfriend. At least he now had a name to the face. Hopefully, he’d be able to get a few questions answered after doing some digging around. If Tendou would help then he’d really get some traction, diving deep enough to figure this whole mess out.

When Hajime didn’t respond or lower his weapon, Tooru narrowed his eyes in warning, his mouth twisting harshly to the side. Still, Hajime would rather die by the hands of this headcase than let either of them walk away unscathed or at least get some questions answered first. He wanted retribution for this afternoon, and he didn’t entirely mind if it was in the form of blood.

But when Tooru changed tactics and pointed his gun at Issei, Hajime’s heart stopped dead in his chest for a moment before he ultimately lowered his hand. Tooru’s partner crossed the room once it was safe to do so, his weapon still aimed and ready to shoot if anyone made a wrong move.

He was going to murder Issei when they got back to base. Somehow, this was all his fault, Hajime felt it as sure as the blood burning in his veins. 

“Did you get it or do I need to keep these idiots busy while you look for it?” Tooru asked his partner once Takahiro made it to his side, unconcerned enough to hint at their business here. Takahiro didn’t respond, only reaching into his pocket and pulling a few folded pieces of paper. Tooru snatched them, pulling the documents apart and looking them over. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded before stuffing them into his own pockets and landing his primal focus back to Hajime.

“Consider this a warning. If you ever aim a gun at me or one of mine again, I will find you, and I won’t hesitate to slit your throat while you sleep,” Tooru threatened, clinical expression cracking with murderous intent.

When the duo rounded the corner, ultimately disappearing from sight, Hajime exhaled, his frustration leaving him in a rush. It was the first true breath he’d allowed himself since Tooru entered the room.

“Spooky,” Issei mumbled. He should be very thankful that Hajime was too exhausted to argue, too focused on figuring out the best way to get them out unscathed. Later -- there would be time for questions later, after Hajime had some adequate rest and didn't feel like punching him senseless.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get out of here before someone comes to check what all the commotion was about,” Hajime said, letting loose a weary sigh. Issei nodded, trailing a step behind Hajime.

“Say, you don’t think that paper was the transaction list we were looking for, do you?” Issei suggested quietly, afraid of saying anything that might set him off again.

“I don’t know what to think,” Hajime replied tiredly. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

“Ooh, my own personal magic eight ball. What else should I ask?” Issei snickered, business as usual.

And while Hajime ought to slap some sense into him, he decided he would get his revenge later, after he’d had the time to plot out what would bring Issei the most humiliation, the slowest burn imaginable in retribution for this day.

Suddenly, a shot rang out and they dropped in their approach to the door, the window behind them blown out and raining broken glass over their heads. Hajime waited a breath for everything to settle before raising into a crouch and assessing the room for the threat, using the desk they’d fallen behind for coverage. He was unsurprised to find Tooru’s smug face winking at him in the doorway ahead just before he disappeared again.

“Fuck,” Issei moaned as he sat up next to Hajime, brushing the bits of glass from his hair. “The more I see that guy, the scarier he gets.”

Hajime sighed, standing to his full height before offering Issei a hand.

“So, what now?” Issei asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the damage they’d done to the room. Their interference here certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed, but at least Tendou was managing the company’s camera feeds from a remote location. Hajime only hoped it’d be enough to keep their anonymity. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Hajime said, not bothering to check that Issei was following him, officially checked out for the day. He needed a stiff drink, preferably the most expensive whiskey he could get his hands on, or maybe a strong punch to the jaw, anything to set him right.

But after today, if there was  _ anything _ Hajime was certain of, it was his hatred for one Tooru Oikawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to post this chapter, I’ve had a slew of personal stuff going on the last few weeks. Please drop a comment and let me know what you thought! This chapter was actually a lot of fun to write. I should be back on track with updates as soon as SakuAtsu NSFW week is over... did I just out myself? Oh well.
> 
> Next time, these idiots will have to deal with the aftermath of this. How we feeling?
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lokurochan)   
>  [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0JSY0MHBL0DOHcYznpQCBF)   
>  [Talk to me (:](https://curiouscat.me/lokurochan)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. I don't know what I'm doing when it comes to actually writing this thing but I have pretty much the whole story planned out. I'm going to try to update bi-weekly but I make no promises. I estimate it to hit somewhere between 15-20 chapters. We'll see. I'd love to hear any and all critiques and comments! I promise it will get more interesting though. Stick with me.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/lokurochan)  
> [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0JSY0MHBL0DOHcYznpQCBF)  
> [Talk to me (:](https://curiouscat.me/lokurochan)


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